


How to disappear completely

by oprovau



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Childhood Sexual Abuse, F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, LGBTQ Themes, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Murder, No character bashing, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Past Abortion, Pining, Protectiveness, Self-Harm, Shane Walsh Lives, Shane/OFC are complicated not romantic but a bit codependent, Sister-Sister Relationship, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Zombie Apocalypse, age gaps will not be glorified nor shamed but they won't be ignored, all romance is bittersweet, and he has a redemption arc, eventual Rick/OFC and Dwight/OFC but i will officially tag when relevant, humans being messy and trying to love and live even tho the world is actively ending, if things are going well ... they will simply get worse, like glacial, which will be a second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 96,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oprovau/pseuds/oprovau
Summary: Brigid Mcallen is 19 when the world ends. She is bitter and lost. Ready to drink herself to death before, and even more determined now. No closure for friends and family. No light on the horizon. She wanders the outskirts of Atlanta alone, a bottle in one hand, hatchet in the other. It's when she accidentally becomes the protector of two children that she recognizes the need to shape up. It's just a matter of surviving long enough to do so.
Relationships: Shane Walsh & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 16





	1. Disruption

**Author's Note:**

> i began writing the spiritual predecessor to this story several years ago, but without a solid timeline and longterm goals, i quickly lost interest. but now, with updated ocs and a better understanding of the story i intend on telling, i'm more up to the challenge. please heed the tags! take care, much love to all <3
> 
> title from Radiohead's ' _How to Disappear Completely_ '

Brigid Mcallen hummed to herself something old, something a little too uptempo for the end of the world. The tune matched her buzz with an easy groove.

The familiar record store she picked as tonight's abode was empty of threats when she arrived, save one fairly fresh dead one, which she took with no more than a little struggle. The main floor housed five long back-to-back rows of hand-me-down records, while a set of stairs off the back right corner led to a coffee shop where less than three weeks ago she would hang out more than study with her gang of college freshmen. If she wasn't half-drunk, she might have broken down in tears of lost youth, but her mind was one-track tonight. Gotta get some dinner.

She removed the black bandana from her mouth to wipe away the day's sweat. She mumbled out loud and clicked her tongue to announce her presence. The sweep of the sales floor gave way to more questions than answers, but she didn't recognize any of the bodies. While checking the storage rooms for any more corpses, she considered what might have happened here. The door was locked when she arrived. _Be back when this shit gets controlled!! - Sage_ read the note covered in peace sign stamps, faded by recent rain. Must have been something hairy, for maybe half a dozen dead ones to be put down within and for the cafe to remain untouched.

With nothing useful hidden between Queen records and Joan Baez posters, Bri approached the cafe door. She grabbed the handle with confidence, and verbally _o_ _uch_ -ed at the unsuccessful yank backwards. It was foolish of her to assume she could waltz in unhindered, but it had been easy enough to dig the spare key from the weeds out front. ( _Old habits die hard, huh, Sage?_ ) Bri sighed at the interruption to her steady stream of wins, sipped at her thermos, and got a move on.

She tucked her cup between her elbow and her hip while she dug through papers around the registers. _Bound to be a key somewhere_. She took a glance at the downed dead scattered around the sales floor, and squirmed at the idea of rummaging through their pockets. She set down her thermos and slipped her sizable red hiking backpack to the ground, careful of the clinking within. Eyeing the locked front entrance and empty side rooms, she shrugged her shoulders and approached the door with the butt of her hatchet. The glass broke with two hard swings. She reached in to turn the lock, and made her way through the shadowed, but clear cafe.

With her bag, and thermos back at her lips, she rummaged through the displays of snacks and local band merch. Small windows lined the top foot or two of the walls, high enough to let in the remnants of day, lifting the thin layer of dust in a twinkling smatter around her scavenging figure. They were also high enough for Bri to breathe easy knowing no one passing by could see her movements. She was beginning to be more scared of the living than the brainless dead.

Her song resumed as she chowed down, finally some food to cushion the vodka. _Satellite of love, satellite of love, satellite of..._ It was something her dad would sing to himself while he shifted from foot to foot in front of the stovetop, making dinner for his army of children. The peanut butter and chocolate chip granola bar became her microphone.

" _Satellite's gone up to the skies, things like that drive me out of my mind_..." Drunk, she was no vocalist, but with the right warm-ups and a few minutes of begging from her dramatic friends, she could be one hell of a performer. But with the way the wind was blowing, performer wasn't much of a trait to have, if it ever was.

When did the song enter her head? Was it as she entered the abandoned record store, or when she saw the bin of Lou Reed records under the just-brought-back banner? With food settling in her gut, she could frown at the idea of her father, step-mother, and siblings. Bri was bound to make it upstate one day soon, but with all exits out of Atlanta blocked by miles of traffic, she was stuck twiddling her fingers to the tune of _maybe the National Guard can still do something._

Bri stared at the broken glass around the entrance. It felt disrespectful to the space, to the owner, her friend, wherever he ended up. She set down her dinner with sudden motivation. She pushed through the swinging half door with a slight sway and entered the small kitchen to grab a broom and dust pan to dispose of the glass shards.

Bri sighed, gulping the rest of her thermos. She unzipped her bag, considering its size and depth. She was ambitious in her packing, not wanting to leave souvenirs and photos behind, but also needing a certain amount of liquid encouragement. Two of her thin childhood blankets, her Georgia State sweatshirt, and every pair of underwear she owned served one purpose: cushion the bottles from clinking together. That was buried underneath the photo albums, and handguns of her fathers that she didn't know how to use. A thought flashed in her mind, _Hey, Brigid, maybe it's time to downsiz_ _e_. Bri audibly chuckled.

But stopped herself. Let out a breath.

This would be the place to let things go, or even more temporarily, store until she could come back around. Yeah. Maybe. It's not like Mom would care either way, those albums were left behind for a reason.

No, in the morning. She would deal with it then.

When removing the handguns and photo albums to access a clean shirt and the blankets, she checked the safety on each, then compulsively, again. The miscellaneous boxes of ammo rattled around, too, and the guns were not loaded when she dug them out of her father's closet. Still, she was afraid one wrong movement would end in a bullet through the leg.

After stepping out and monitoring the silent side road, locking the door, and pulling the just-brought-back table in front of it, she performed her pitiful nighttime routine. Brushed her teeth in the bathroom, wiped down with baby wipes, bust open the rickety tampon machine. Her face was clean of dirt now, but her hair was still greased and lacked its usually lively reddish sheen in the flickering lights above her. She combed her hair flat with her fingers and twisted it into a low bun, out of the way and less of a nuisance than it would be sticking to her neck throughout the night.

In the cafe, she tossed her supplies into the bag, along with as many bottled waters would fit. If she took out the alcohol and an album or two, she'd have a few days of hydration. But in her stubbornness, she huffed, and tossed the remaining waters to the side. She would surely find another place by the next night. This neighborhood was not too picked through, anyway.

She wrangled out her thinning blankets. She situated her bag close to the corner booth, her hatchet on the table, and folded one blanket as a pillow, draping the other over her lower half. She shifted, realizing these homey booths were actually not as comfortable as she had always thought.

The light was low, orange in thin rays over the tables and pathetic stage area where she once trained to be an underground rock star. Her brother always joked with her, and seemed too into the fantasy of sensations famous overnight. He would be her manager. The dynamic duo of _Brigid & Benny _ (he was always highly insistent she could change her name if she wanted to) would be world renowned.

Her gut told her to drink away the name of her eldest brother, but her brain told her she would need it more to wake up in the morning.

So, before emotions could grip her any further, Bri squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to sleep.

* * *

Sleep came quick, but Brigid awoke restless, her blankets both on the floor, with a throbbing headache. By running her fingertips over her forehead, she could detect a tender, bruised knot where she must have knocked into the table while she slept. The internal hammer was swinging, too, as well as the little voice saying _Hey, Brigid, good morning_ , with its watery warble.

She willed herself to sit up, to stretch her legs out and rise. She ate a granola bar and eased it down with a shot of Tito's, then mixed the alcohol with a bottle of water. Her stash was running low, which irked her, and Sage with his moral high ground never stored alcohol on the premises.

Bri tossed the now-empty bottle into a trash can and added another two waters to its position in her bag, tucked beneath two nondescript handguns. She checked the safety on each of the weapons in her bag, then again for good measure.

The photo albums stared at her from the bag. She wouldn't leave Benny behind, couldn't, not like Mom and Dad did. _No_ , she decided, _I'll deal with them some other time_.

The digital clock by the stage read 7:52 A.M.

Brigid had no real plan for the day, but recognized how out of her own way she had gone to visit a place she loved. A place intrinsically tied to her brother and his life before he left her. She sipped. She was seconds from leaving, but the urge to crawl into the fetal position crept along her arms.

She imagined Benny singing into her ear while passing out cakepops or coffees or keyrings he'd made on his breaks. How Sage would kiss both of their reddish-brown heads and taught her how to play basic guitar chords at the same booth she slept in. Bri removed the lid of her thermos and chugged. At the halfway point, she paused to gulp for oxygen. God, she missed them, and she was beginning to loathe how they made her mind wander.

Atlanta's streets were still simmering from the napalm, but she knew the roads well enough. Instead of wandering aimlessly along the outskirts like she had for the past week, maybe she could find a map, mark a path through the city instead of around. The danger of humans scrounging in the city might outweigh the extra time it would take to cross through the highways filled with the infected. At least with people, there was a decent chance she could talk her way out of a sticky situation. No chance in slipping the infected the Get Out of Jail Free card. But on second thought, the dead within the city would be dangerous, too, if there were less survivors around to dispatch them. So still no plan.

She shouldered the bag, thought of something, and laughed as she left the coffee shop. _Friday, I got travelin' on my_ _mind..._ A sip and an audible sigh, she moved the table from the front door, and walked into the thin morning air. Fleetwood Mac flowed through her head, a buffer between thoughts of her brother and the burnt corpse stink wafting out of the city. Placing her thermos on the ground, she reached around to her backpack's outer zipper pocket and removed the black bandanna. She tied it snug around her ears, and through the side opening, she angled her straw and took a swig. _I'll be there if you want me to, no one else that could ever do_...

It was either go right, back towards the familiar city with certain danger, or left, into the outlying towns she never bothered to visit. Right, maybe, towards the airport but avoiding the thick of it. Check a few parked cars for keys and gun it through the city, following 85 but keeping off of it. Good a plan as any. With no way to contact Mack and Reid upstate, Bri was in no rush. She began to walk, only once glancing at the receding record store.

* * *

There were better plans, surely, which she had not thought of.

Interstate 85 was clear heading into the city, with no issues. She found a working truck, that was good. She remembered making it somewhere between Hammond Park and Sylvan Hills, far from the city center where her navigation was more knowledgeable, but where the residential streets were mostly undisturbed. She passed an amphitheater, markets, and grade schools with familiar names, the ones her college friends once attended. At an intersection between two gas stations, the truck pinged a warning of low gas.

The station she chose was abandoned, sporting a ripped _Looters will be shot_ banner. The panes of glass were shattered, shelves picked clean. A few of the dead were feasting off to the side. One lifted its dripping jaws, but Bri ducked into her seat at the sight of them. She gave it a minute before peering over the front dash. Busy again. Out in the open, between Bri and the crowd, were a backpack and two gas canisters, one stood upright, the other on its side spilling across the pavement. Her gut sank. The blood around the scene, trailing to the dead, was barely congealed and gasoline still ebbed in its puddle. Five minutes earlier, this person was alive.

Her first instinct was to run and grab the pack, to check the canister. Then her stomach churned at the fact she was using this person's death as an opportunity. She took a sip, draining her thermos. She winced at the gurgle of her straw meeting air at the bottom of the cup. She hadn't considered entering the store before, but if she could sneak in undetected and grab some wine coolers... In the sun visor's mirror, she adjusted the bandanna. She forced out a breath.

Hatchet at the ready, she used the door as a barrier, peaking around to watch the dead. They were content to chow down on this poor guy. She bristled. Ducked to half height, she took slow and deliberate steps, watching for debris.

At the bag, she realized it was no more than a school backpack, thin and seeped with blood. She was hesitant in her movements, and mouth-breathing to avoid inhaling the overwhelming metallic and rotten smell of the lot. She strapped the bag over her shoulder, adjusting to the weight. She lifted the intact canister and felt it slosh. Maybe half-full? The sound was not enough to draw the dead's attention.

One step backwards was what it took. Her foot met the puddle of blood and gravity pulled her straight down.

"Ah, fuck!" _Ah, fuck_ was right. The heads of the dead, not long infected, snapped at the sound. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The backpack was enough to cushion her back, but it squelched and warmth spread through her t-shirt. Her right ankle throbbed, tucked beneath her left leg. And they were starting towards her.

It dawned on her that she was willing to fight them, if only to satiate the nagging need to root around the gas station refrigerators.

Crabwalking back towards the truck, her ankle cried in pain, but, albeit slowly, she made it and pulled herself up on the door. She slung the backpack into the passenger's seat and the canister on the floor beneath. She could drive away, easy at this point.

 _No_ , she decided. _Let me fight this one out_. Easy to be brave with five feet between her and the monsters. She had never taken on more than two or three of those things. At a glance, maybe there were four? Only four? She decided to be brave, if only to get into the gas station. She's got this.

She felt for her hatchet, prepared to fight. She whined at the handle's absence, at saw it where it lay in the puddle. The first dead was getting closer and its dragging feet kicked the hatchet further out of reach. The remaining three stood from their meal.

 _Ah, fuck_.

Her hatchet was now closer to the entrance of the gas station, and the first one was going to run into the truck door. She readied herself with a huff.

The thing's bloodied hands pawed at the glass, Bri's only protection against the infected. She could still jump in the truck and drive away, unarmed.

Instead, she threw her weight sideways towards the entrance, lunging with her stomach tight, prepared for impact. The concrete skinned her palms and they burned around the embedded gravel. The infected simply turned and rushed for her fallen body. _Ah, fuck_. She wasn't close enough to the hatchet, but this thing was close enough to her.

She kicked her legs out towards its, and it fell, giving her the opportunity to stand. The other three were closer, too, invested in the tussle.

She gripped the hatchet with tight, stinging fists. She rapidly grew terrified it would leave her stranded again. One hand over the other, she reared back and swung. It met the skull of the first, forcing it to the concrete. Another swing to end it.

The others were nearer. She backed up, made her steps solid, with purpose. The only other dead around were in the distance, not close enough to hear the commotion. Her focus was steady on these guys. Maybe she could run them around the truck? But there were other cars around, too, and if she lost sight of even one of them, she could be caught off-guard and bitten. _Ah, fuck_.

She maintained several feet of space between, guiding them with ease. A glint in the corner of her eye turned her head. On the back of the pickup, there was a metal step. She angled herself towards it. She raked her feet against the concrete, scraping off the excess blood. In went the hatchet, her body following. Six hands swiped along the edge.

She hacked off as many limbs as she could, while jumping in and out of their reach. Her weight rocking in the bed caused the truck to squeal and bounce beneath her, egging them on as they slammed their torsos against the truck, enraged.

She kicked the heads of two, sending them away from the truck bed. She embedded her hatchet in the last skull. It went slack and its mass dropped like a stone, forcing her upper body to lean uncomfortably over the side of the bed as she wiggled the blade.

The first was returning as the second pulled itself back its feet. She grunted, half out of fear, half to aid one last pull to release the blade. Next was nearly a scream, a guttural display making up for the weakness in her arms and the pain of her throbbing ankle. Her body was still slung over the side of the truck and she used the odd angle to swung the blade over her head and into the second one's skull, and pin it again the chipping paint of the truck bed. The hatchet detached easier this time, as the first to approached with its bloody jowls aiming for her wrists. She pulled her arms away, leaving it confused and distracted long enough for her to bring the blade through its rotting skull in one final, agonizing growl. The thing fell with the hatchet stuck between brain matter, but the threat was gone.

She fell back, her head bouncing slightly as it hit the truck bed. She could feel the new pressures around her body now, intermingling with the aches and pulls that the use of the hatchet had sprouted. Her gut was hunger pangs and muscle strain. She needed a shot of something strong, something warm to sooth the ache. Or a Tylenol. 

_Ugh, up we go_. Her hands clawed at the side of the truck, but became slick with goopy blackened blood. She wiped her hands off on her pants-legs. The back of her t-shirt was stained beyond cleaning anyway, and the back of her legs were soaked through from the fall. She wasn't sure what would happen if the infected blood entered any open wounds, but it was easy to assume the worst. She would need a bath soon, even a baby-wipe wipe-down would comfort her.

The sun indicated high noon, lighting the inside of the empty station. Rattling came from a storage room, an infected riled by the fight.

The only display still stocked was the maps of Georgia and surrounding states. She plucked two, one advertising _Best of Atlanta_ and another which covered the full state.

Bri took a cloth satchel and headed for the fridges along the walls. Not a damn thing, not what she was looking for, anyway.

She lifted two energy drinks with a sigh, but dropped them in a clatter at the sight of an unopened wine bottle sitting in the center of the aisle. The way the sun rays hit it in thin panels, it had to be fate. She giggled, childish and damn near joyful.

"Fuck yeah." She set the bottle in her bag and tiptoed around the leaning displays and broken glass.

There were packs of Zebra Cakes, peanut butter crackers, and Fruit Roll-Ups. Made her feel like middle school all over. No water, but there was Gatorade, and maybe she needed electrolytes from all the hard work? The pickings were abysmal, but at a glance, the neighboring station was just as bad, and she didn't have the strength to take on any more dead.

The breeze was cool against her arms, but sour to her nose. She instinctively covered it with her shirt, finding that her bandanna was missing, out of sight.

She filled as much of the gas tank as possible, and as the car pinged to life, she sighed in relief. Over halfway full would get her a long way, especially with a map.

The pamphlet she grabbed for Atlanta had multiple maps within, each for a different subject. Going by the arts and entertainment category would be the easiest. She'd been to enough artistic spaces and theaters and museums to be able to use her memories to orientate herself towards the city center.

She mumbled. "Keep around 85 but stick to side roads, yada yada. Let's gooo." She would keep her eyes out for a drug store and a clothing store, or maybe she would hide away in a residential area for the night. Scavenging the necessities would be easier that way. Apartments would not be looted in favor convenience stores, so that was an idea to consider. She shuddered at the thought of going through another person's home, something she had avoided thus far. Imagining some random college kid off the street going through her stuff did not sit well with her. Hope they like her rows of busted Converse and record collection.

There was a pile up on the stretch of 85 in front of her, so she turned right, towards an adjacent road, and kept the map in the cupholder for easy access while she nibbled on her lunch. " _You gotta go where you wanna go, do what you wanna do..._ "

* * *

Bri was somewhere between Spelman and a nearby mall when she got shifty. It had only been twenty minutes since the gas station. Her heart was pounding. In three different directions, she could see crowds of a dozen or more of the infected. They were far off, but she was caving. She slowed her driving speed to a glacial crawl before turning into an empty driveway. Yeah, she wanted to get in and out of the city, but she also wanted to guzzle through her bottle of wine, and possibility of the latter made her hands twitch. If she had remembered to grab a corkscrew from the station, she would already be mellowed out. Maybe get through downtown.

She considered the house in front of her. One story, white-shuttered with red drapes inside. It looked untouched, making it a better target. Off to the left, there was the gate to a white picket fence, unmarred by gore or scorch marks.

She removed the keys and shoved them in her pocket. Her thermos was shoved into her lunch satchel and clinked against the wine bottle. On either shoulder, she carried a backpack. Her hatchet was tight in the grip of her free hand. The skin on her palm was still tingling and the cool pressure of the handle made her hiss.

Bri loosened the bolt, entered, and replaced it. The backyard might have been quaint two weeks before, but now the wilted rose bushes and kiddie pool of still, murky water sat unkempt by white lawn chairs and a table with a torn umbrella.

A kiddie pool.

She hoped there being no car meant this family got out safely. She was not sure she could put down an infected kid.

She shrugged off her bags and placed them beside the flowers. The sliding door was unlocked, but Bri clinked the glass with the hatchet handle before entering.

No movement within. She slid the door slowly.

From her position, she could see the kitchen and dining table off to her right, a hallway to her left, and a living room straight ahead.

Hatchet in hand, she approached the hallway. Two doors on either side, all closed, with a bathroom at the end, door opened.

She checked there first, searched the medicine cabinet and storage beneath the sink. The essentials were absent, no toothbrush or toilet paper, or shampoo in the shower.

She tapped each door after, waiting for signs of the dead. There was a girl's room, decked out in purple and Disney memorabilia, and a boy's, decorated light blue with spaceships. Each room was clear of infected, and bare again of clothing, knick-knacks, and family photos. This family had left Atlanta, and judging by the thin layer of dust, it was three or four weeks ago, when things first got rough. _At least someone looks out for their kids_ , she grumbled silently. The remaining room housed storage and cleaning supplies.

In the master bedroom, there was a small bathroom, decorated white with silver accents. The shower was a clean white granite. Not expecting much, she flipped the shower handle.

Her jaw went slack as water sputtered out.

_Oh, hell yeah._

She aimed the handle at the red H and prayed it would warm up. Though at this point, she wouldn't be too picky. She bolted outside for her bags. From her own backpack, she removed a clean pair of underwear, a tank top, and a travel size shampoo.

Beneath the sink was a washcloth and an unopened body wash. She stripped in front of the shower, tossing her bloody t-shirt and jeans to the side with her sneakers and now-iron-colored socks. 

The water was boiling against her skin and the shock left her giddy. Hot streams ran clear to brown within moments of her stepping in. She snapped the plastic seal on the body wash and doused the cloth to scrub off the crusty blood stains as she began to sing, " _Who do you think you are? You tried to push me a bit too far..._ " The shampoo was already nearly empty, so she squeezed out the last and tossed it over the shower curtain. " _And everyday sees another scar, oh, tell me, who do you think you are?_ " She danced underneath the water. She gave an encore, an 80s power ballad, whisper-sung, acted out dramatically while the water swirling the drain cleared up.

With the water off and her body clean for the first time in weeks, she sighed contently. Then she remembered.

Corkscrew. Wine bottle.

She slipped into her clean clothes, abandoning the bloody pile. Her bare legs were covered in goosebumps as she beelined through the hallway.

In the kitchen, she didn't even find what could have been a liquor cabinet. _Boring_. Unarmed, she poked her head into the garage and clacked her tongue. She tapped around for a switch, and with a click, the area illuminated. The tools along the wall caught her eye, and she'd be back to check them out later, surely, but it was the little white fridge which made her heart pound.

Her fingers were crossed for anything, literally anything. She pulled the handle.

Inside, chilling under fluorescent lights, were two six-packs of Bud Light, ew, but also yellow bottles hand-labeled _hard lemonade_ in a scratch of ink. _Nice_.

She grabbed the bottles and shut the door, twisting the screw top off of one and sipping it while exiting the garage. It could have been bottled piss, but what was the difference between that and a beer? The twang of the lemon, and maybe a hint of lime, mixed well and settled her nerves.

She checked the front door and both of the large front windows, adjusting the thick, red curtains to keep the room dark. At the dining table, she set aside her drink and spread out her bags. Then dumped them out and took stock, laying it all across the table.

The small boxes of ammo had shifted and slid open, leaving various rounds to float around the tequila, which she had managed to forget. She shook out the blankets over the bag, careful to let rounds go flying across the tile floor. She set the corked wine bottle and the two paper maps on the table to the side, along with dinner.

The dead man's backpack left a smear across the dining table, but with light hands, Bri only got blood on her fingertips. The outer pocket held the wallet and school identification card of a James Sandoval, a tan young man with a round face. The wallet held cash and a picture of James and an older Hispanic woman. Squeezed beside the wallet was an EpiPen and orange bottle of what she recognized to be clinical strength painkillers. In the first large pouch was a bottled water and hand sanitizing wipes, and a pocket-sized notebook with mini-colored pencils, like they would hand out to children at restaurants. In the last pouch were several canned items.

She open the notebook to find a makeshift map of the northwest outskirts of Atlanta, a different set of streets on each page. Blacked out buildings seemed to indicate there were no supplies, redzones with between 1-5 tally marks indicated the severity of gatherings of infected. Green shadings showed paths which were clear. It wasn't done by an artist, but she recognized some streets and fixtures. Maybe if she backtracked, she could made headway around the western border of the city. She could make out streets on the edge of Buckhead, the northernmost area of the city, but nothing through the downtown or in her current corner. But this would be helpful regardless. The pages were hard to connect, but individually, she could apply this to her larger paper map, and consolidate what James had discovered.

" _Thank you,_ James Sandoval." she muttered to herself.

She dug around the kitchen and found a container of assorted ziploc bags, which she used to organize the ammo as best as she could, doing the same with her hygiene products and food items, delegating larger bags to keep the latter together. The organization calmed her, made her less scatter-brained.

She removed a large steak knife and some silverware from the drawers. The pantry and fridge were a bust. There were dry mixes, mostly cake and dessert batters remaining, and a sour, expired jug of milk, which she threw out into the yard. The fridge was still running, so she slid her drinks into the shelves in the door. Above the counter was a cabinet of cereal. She left the Raisin Bran in favor of Lucky Charms.

She left out what she would need that night, and settled the rest within her bag. It was a tight fit to place everything else in her hiking backpack, but the organization into baggies helped. God, and her drinks were in the fridge. Maybe she could carry them in the satchel? She sighed, slurping the last of the lemonade.

There were pictures on the mantel under the parents' television, most frames empty, but some holding similar images of a smiling family, nothing too forced. The woman with dark skin and bright eyes with her arms wrapped around a tanned, athletically built man who stared at her with something like awe. Less frequent, they seemed to have taken most of the photos including them, were two children around five and ten, each with wild grins, wearing clothing which appeared handmade, but in that DIY-stay-at-home-mom-group kind of way that was cute when done well. They looked happy, and Bri hoped they got out of the city.

She emptied her plastic sack into the bathtub, the sink being too small to get the work done. She stopped the drain and let cold water fill a few inches before shutting it off. The shirts and underwear had less blood and required less scrubbing. She went to clean the pile covered in James Sandoval's blood, but stopped herself. It didn't feel right to wear them again. Like it was disrespectful.

With the clothing rung out and air-drying, she glanced around the master bedroom. The drawers were empty, but on the floor of the closet was a plastic tub labeled _Goodwill_. Inside were pants with elastic bands and over-sized t-shirts. Maternity clothes. Within was a light pink shirt and a pair of jeans which hung slightly at her hips, but on the bedside table was a man's belt, and that did the job well enough. She tucked in the shirt and cuffed the jeans, careful no excess fabric was loose enough to catch on anything.

She gazed at the clock over the oven. It was only 3? She was drained of energy, tip to toes, and her head pounded with the amount of split decisions she had made. She retrieved her lemonade and sipped at it. What now?

Her eyes landed on James' wallet.

She found an empty frame on the mantel under the television in the parents' room, and popped out the back to place James' ID and photograph in it. She replaced the back, and set it straight. While it looked out of place in the bedroom, she figured it was nicer than tossing the wallet on the counter and abandoning it. It wasn't exactly on purpose, but he was giving her a helping hand, wherever he was. He was owed a memorial.

But another part of her said James Sandoval died so Bri Mcallen could get drunk again, and she nearly gagged. What would Benny say if he saw her now?

With the table clear, she spread out the map of Atlanta. With a pen from the kitchen counter, she mimicked James' tally marks and indicated clear paths. The light-marking colored pencils didn't show up on the dark, detailed map.

Bri cracked open the girl's room. _Madison_ was painted on the walls in gold letters. At a child-size desk was a plastic bin of markers. Bri uncapped a few, testing the red, green, and black on her hands in stripes. They were slightly dry, but by layering strokes, they would work fine. She imitated James' work on the northwestern outskirts, and filled in what she had seen from Sage's record store through East Point, the roads she first escaped the city on, and the side routes she had taken from the gas station to this neighborhood. She starred her own home and her dorm, and coffee shops she used to frequent as landmarks.

Nearly satisfied with her work, she took her hatchet and stepped out onto the front porch. The sky was overcast, making it feel more like evening. The house was one off from the corner. Looking back on the residential street which ran in front of her, there were maybe half a dozen infected dotted across the visible halfmile stretch. To her right, the road inclined over a hill where a cluster feasted with hunched, twisted backs. She took strides towards the front yard of the corner home, and peered around the structure to revisit what had shocked her into stopping in the first place. What was a dozen when she arrived now looked like double. To her left, she could see a fenced in yard and the mass of infected milling around within. She returned to the house with haste.

On the map, she indicated the fenced in dead and the crowd forming in the neighborhood behind her. If the dead on the hill cleared out by the morning, she would head that way, a straight shot downtown, where she knew FEMA relief tents were set up and would likely still be full of supplies. She questioned if the speed of cutting through Atlanta was worth risk, but the familiarity of the streets surrounding her college campus was motivational enough. If there were more dead, or if any crowds got too close, she could double back and follow James' map out of harm's way.

The clock read 8:00 P.M. and rain drizzled down the patio door. Bri locked the bolt and pulled the drape over it, muffling the bird caws that ripped through the silent neighborhood. In the dark, she nursed another lemonade while slurping peaches from a can. She sung aloud, " _Who do you think you are, hurting me more with the things you say..._ " She rechecked the front door, then checked both again.

She took the duvet from the parents' room, and two of the extra long pillows. On the love seat in the living room, she curled into them, propped up to continue drinking, but comfortable enough to doze off eventually. Her hatchet lay on an end table.

Her body was sore and she was regretting not taking a painkiller. But the simple twist of her ankle and burn of her palms would disappear with rest, and she voted to stay in her huddle, until sleep fell over her in a wave. The bottle rolled off the covers, spilling the last drops onto the plush carpet.

* * *

Bri woke to the door rattling.

Not rattling, no, someone was jiggling the doorknob, trying out different keys. It took her more than a second to unwind her covers and hop over the discarded bottle. Her hatchet shook in her nervous hands.

She approached the doorway. A key? Was the family back? Not like she had desecrated their home or anything, but her gut dipped. She had gone through their things regardless. They looked nice in their family pictures, very suburban. Surely they would understand, with the state of the world and everything... Or could it be someone picking the lock? She held her hatchet low, ready to strike, but trying to seem less than menacing.

The door pushed open to reveal an angry, thunderous sky and two kids with wide, reddened eyes, each holding a knife. The children were clean aside from their soaked clothing, and neither weapon was marred by blood.

The much taller of the two was a preteen girl in a thin blue raincoat. Her eyes blinked rapidly, darting from Bri's hatchet to her bedhead. She spoke loudly, but her voice warbled, "Mrs. Shelton isn't here." It was a question phrased as a statement.

"No..." Bri's voice cracked though the thick layer of sleep on her cords. "Uh... what's up?"

"D-Do you know if she'll be back?" she maintained her composure, looking into Bri's eyes.

Bri faltered. They knew the family that lived here, but not that they were gone. Where were their parents? Her gut churned at the implications of two kids on their own.

The boy was silently staring at Bri's hatchet, transfixed in a state of shock. He wore a puffer jacket, several sizes too big, with the hood pulled tight around his face.

"I don't think they'll be back." Bri said, "I'm just passing through."

The tears fell. "Oh, oh, okay, that's just great... ma'am." She tacked on the final word with a bit of attitude. The boy's blank stare turned terrified as the girl started to walk away.

"I--- wait!" Bri stepped out to grab her arm. There were dead roaming towards their voices. "Do you have somewhere you're supposed to be?" Was that a good question?

The girl ripped away her arm, eyes wide, never leaving Bri's. "Mom said if anything happened to come to Mrs. Shelton's house, because we still have a key from house-sitting." She spoke furiously. The anger seemed less aimed at Bri, and more towards the mother. Bri had no clue what to do.

"We'll figure something out." Bold use of _we_ \-- Bri was already wishy-washy on if she'd be going in or around the city, but either way, she could get out a dire situation alone. But with kids?

Bri gave them each a bottle of water and opened a lemonade for herself. The children sat at the dining table while Bri leaned against the fridge. The girl's brown eyes bore holes in Bri, who kept her focus on her drink, pretending to be in deep thought. In reality, it was only alarm bells, like the ones that would go off in the Grady psych ward when a high risk patient got out.

God, what would Benny do?

"Can I have some lemonade?" The girl's drying hair was like melting chocolate, framing her raised brows in loose curls. Under the kitchen’s illumination, her light brown skin shone with scattered water droplets.

"No, sorry, it's the last one." Bri snapped, but was unable to keep eye contact with the daggers being thrown her way.

They sat in silence, until each had finished their respective drinks.

Bri offered. "Are y'all hungry or..?"

"No, _ma'am_ , we ate sandwiches last night." the girl's voice was solid.

"It's morning, though," Bri said, "so you can have breakfast. I have, uh, Fruit Roll-Ups." The boy perked up.

Bri pulled the bag of food from her pack. "A cake, too?" His eyes flashed mischievous before turning puppy dog. _So at least he's not mute_. She handed one over. "Thanks."

"Do you want something?" she asked the girl, who glanced at her brother warily.

"No, _ma'am_ , I don't take food from strangers."

"Well, you drank the water, and you wanted lemonade, so..." Bri placed a granola bar on the table in front of her. The girl huffed.

"Where are your parents?" Bri didn't mean to ask it so harshly. She was certain she knew the answer anyway. From the girl's expression, it would seem Bri spit molten lava in their direction.

"Dead now, I guess." said the girl, and Bri faltered at her candor. "Do you live here now?"

Bri motioned to her packed bag. "I just spent the night, I'm leaving today. They told you to come here in case of an emergency?"

"Yeah, that or 911 first, but the phones don't work, soo..."

"What happened?"

"What seems to happen a lot lately." Her lip quivered.

"Alright..." Bri did not want this angry girl to start crying again. "What are you going to do now?" That was a dumb question. The Shelton house was their plan.

The girl snapped up, "What do _you_ think we're going to do now?"

The boy ate his Zebra Cake with his eyes downcast, nodding in agreement with his sister.

Bri didn't have an answer for them. "Do you have any other family?"

"Not nearby."

"Did your parents leave a note?"

"They were busy dying, so...."

Bri's face contorted awkwardly. _Any longterm goals, kids? Any museums or monuments you wanna see?_

"Oh!" Bri laughed uncomfortably. "What are your names?"

"You first." The girl bit out. What movie did she pick up this attitude from? _If you were my kid, I'd want to die, too._

Bri cringed. Was it just this kid pressing her buttons that inspired her to be so mean-spirited? Or was it the light thumping behind her eyes? She sipped to stop herself from saying something terrible.

Bri focused on brightening her tone, but it came off more condescending than inviting. "My name is Brigid, or Bri for short. I went to college at Georgia State. I was a singer, I guess. Now I'm trying to get to family upstate."

"I'm Cory." said the boy. "I've killed a walker." Not a term she'd heard before.

"Good job." Bri said kindly.

"I'm Chrissy." Her jaw was tight. "I've killed like three walkers, I guess."

These kids were traumatized and Bri had no clue what to do for them. "Uhh, anything else?"

"Why do you want to know so much about us?" Chrissy interrogated, and Bri placed her hands on the counter.

"Is anyone else going to ask you? Is there anyone else here to help you?"

Cory gave a quiet grin. "You're so much like my Mom."

Was their mom mean? Bri felt mean. Or as her father liked to sneer during a shouting match, strong-willed. Maybe that's what Cory was seeing here.

"No, she's not, why would you say that--" Chrissy started.

Bri articulated. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

"No."

"Then you're stuck with me right now, and if you made it here in the dark, in the rain, you're probably worth helping out, okay?" She stumbled over her ending words. Did she really just imply that a stupid child was not worth saving from the dead, the walkers? She rambled on. "I just mean that I'm an adult and you're children and it would be irresponsible of me to leave you here alone. There are bad people out there." Damn, but was she one of them? She turned to the fridge and took out another lemonade.

"Hey! You said that was the last one." Chrissy scoffed. "I want some."

"It's special lemonade, okay, it has special pills and shit crushed up just for me." Bri lied through her teeth, and Chrissy's jaw set, clearly sensing it.

"Can I say shit?" asked Cory, amused.

"I don't care."

Apparently that was the wrong answer. "You'd be a bad mom."

 _Well, it's a good thing I'm not a mom_. Oh, shit, no, now she kind of was a mom.

"Do you have any supplies?" Chrissy scrunched her features and lifted her knife as if to say _Duh we don't have supplies_. Well, one of them can hold the wine satchel. "Those knives are a good size for y'all, you've used them before?"

"Yeah, Dad taught us."

Bri asked, fumbling for what to say. "If you had your own bag, what are the basics that you would put in it?" 

"My Barbies?" Chrissy deadpanned. "Food, water, medicine like Tylenol, a gun if I could use it. Do I look stupid to you?"

"Just trying to look out for you."

"You clearly don't know me, Brigid." Chrissy bit out. Bri hid a laugh while she sipped from her bottle. "I'm gonna look through Madison's room." Chrissy stared Bri down, then stomped off with Cory trailing behind.

Bri understood why both her mother and step-mother began to drink when their children became teenagers. Sipping, she realized that it was a genetically predispostioned gut-reaction. Hey, not the worst she could have gotten passed down.

Bri did a final sweep of the house, picking up her blankets and dried clothes. She saw that Chrissy found bags and clothes for Cory, but nothing for herself.

"I can look in the mom's--"

"No, I'll do it."

When asked, Bri made something up for Cory to carry in his bag. "You can take the soap I found." He nodded that he was up for the task. In the bag were socks and a t-shirt, folded neatly. His knife sat on top of them. "You need to keep your knife out, though, okay?"

He agreed, and held his bag open for her to place the bottle within. She placed a can of tuna and some granola bars in, too.

Chrissy returned in her same sweatpants but in a clean white tee with blue letters, some soccer league or another.

"What did you find?" Bri tried a nicer tone than before.

"The stuff I found that I needed..." Chrissy looked at Bri like she was a weirdo for wondering. Bri cocked her head, but didn't press further. Chrissy volunteered, "Hairbrush. Toilet paper. T-shirts. Happy?"

Bri drew the last of the Fruit Roll-Ups and a Gatorade from her bag. "Take these, too."

Chrissy huffed but took them and zipped her bag. "So what's your plan, Brigid?" She drew out the last syllable like a Valley Girl. Bri imagined herself smacking Chrissy across the face, but was quickly ashamed of herself for even thinking it.

"Chrissy..." Bri drew out the girl's name in retort. The plan wasn't a real plan, it was just what she was deciding to go with. "We're going to drive through downtown Atlanta because it's quicker than going around. Driving will be safer than on foot, and we should be able to do it today." She also should have been able to make the drive yesterday, and the image of a corkscrew flashed in her mind.

"That sounds dangerous, Brigid."

"Well, if you've killed three walkers, Chrissy, it shouldn't be a problem."

The group went into the garage and examined the tool desk. Cory took the hammer, tested out its weight in heavy swings. Chrissy was content with her knife, though Bri was sure it was just to spite her. They stowed away tools which wouldn't be good weapons, but would likely be useful eventually.

It dawned on Bri that her wine and tequila remained in the fridge door. The kids looked at her expectantly.

"Uhh, Chrissy, do you want to go get the truck running?" Bri asked nonchalantly.

"Do you want us alone with the walkers again?" Chrissy returned, like Bri was an idiot.

Bri ignored her and shuffled them along. "Alright, let's head for the door."

Bri found the gas station satchel where it had been pushed to the ground. She said a quick goodbye-and-thank-you to James Sandoval when she saw his bloody bag beneath the table. The kids stood at the front door, weapons drawn, coats on, while Bri placed the bottles in canvas bag.

"We good to go?" The sky was dark, but the rain let up.

Cory crawled into the backseat alone, while Chrissy grumbled something about needing more leg room and slid into the passenger's side next to Bri.

"So nice of you to join me--" Bri started.

Chrissy stated, feet crossed on the dash, staring out the window. "Leg room."

Bri shoved her red backpack beneath Chrissy's chair, and set the satchel between the two of them with care.

Chrissy eyed the bag's opening and groaned. "Special lemonade, huh? Jesus, we're being kidnapped by a teen drunk."

"You got in the car, Chrissy. You're welcome to get out." But Bri prayed she wouldn't swing her door open and stomp away. Bri pushed Chrissy's legs off the console and turned the key. The truck rumbled to life. "Check the glove box for CDs, I forget to yesterday."

"Do we really need mood music, or do we need peace and quiet to be aware of our surroundings?" Chrissy glared. She was, unfortunately, right.

Bri handed Chrissy the map of Atlanta, gave her something to do other than gripe. Bri peeled out of the driveway, turning left in the direction of the small hill.

She sang to herself in an obnoxious whisper-speech as Chrissy groaned, and Cory smiled from the backseat. " _Satellite of love, satellite of love, satellite of..._ "

* * *

"You're a teen drunk _and_ you're a fucking idiot." Chrissy whispered at Bri, the swear foreign in her mouth.

Cory leaned into the front seat. "What's going on?" He repeated for the third time.

Bri scratched her neck and looked at her feet awkwardly. Downtown was fully overrun. After the hill was a brief stretch of clear streets, then they came upon a section of government buildings, scorched from within and crawling with the walkers. Bri sped past, them slammed to a halt on the verge of downtown. It was painted in debris and a mess of charred military vehicles. And the dead roaming around. Smoke still billowed from hidden sources, ash floated through the air. The chugging of the truck's engine was a siren's song. She pulled into a parking garage and off of the street, feeling safe on the fifth floor.

The three sat in boiling tension as Chrissy stared at Bri. She wasn't scared, not that Bri could sense, but was nonetheless fuming like an overflowing kettle.

"There's a department store a few blocks from here. It's a few stories tall, so we can use it as a vantage point." Bri knew the location, but tacked on rhetoric to calm the children's nerves.

Chrissy was clearly unimpressed, but Cory agreed, "We'll be able to see more, that's good." _That's the spirit_.

"Alright, let's go." Bri and Cory gathered their bags and moved to exit the car. Chrissy didn't move. "No need to be scared, we got this."

"That's not a plan." Steam seemed to pour from her ears.

Bri sighed. "We go down the stairs to avoid stragglers and we turn left when we get to the exit. We walk straight towards the big, red sign and we go inside when we get there. It's a good a plan as any."

Chrissy mumbled something like _No, it's not_ , but got out of the car and trailed behind them down the stairs.

On the ground floor was the destroyed guard station and plastic barriers, as well as a busted vending machine, which Bri allowed the kids to quietly dig through while she checked the entrance. There was the crowd of the dead which had been drawn in by the truck on the top of the upwards slope, far enough away for Bri and the kids to stay out of danger.

At the alcove leading to the street were two walkers. Bri motioned Chrissy over. Bri was slightly taller the average height for a woman, and Chrissy, in her full, unslouched stance, was half-a-head shorter. Together, they could take these walkers, if Chrissy would cooperate with Bri. Bri was less than certain Chrissy wouldn't use her as bait and make a run for it.

Bri whispered. "Get it to the ground first, then--" But Chrissy was already approaching the closest one with her steak knife at the ready.

The second walker turned at the sudden movement and lunged at the younger girl. She yelped as she stabbed the first and fell with the weight of it. Bri leaped forward and sliced into the second's head.

Instead of berating her, Bri extended her hand to the younger, who did not take it. "I had it." Chrissy insisted.

Bri mocked her, simply staring with her jaw set.

Chrissy dusted herself off, frowning at the streak of blood marring her white shirt. "Lead the way, Brigid."

Bri took steps into the street and heard Cory murmur to Chrissy what a good job they. Chrissy didn't reply.

The group walked briskly, Bri leading and Chrissy covering the back. Each girl dispatched walkers who trickled near, and thankfully this time Chrissy kept formation.

The department store door swung open, rattling the tin bell on its hinge. It alerted walkers in the street, but they pushed a metal display rack in front of the door. They stood still, waiting for impact. The door only wavered slightly when the first walker pawed at it, and it seemed the group was safe from external threats, for now.

The kids followed Bri's lead up the broken escalators to the top sales floor. Dead walkers and blood-stained clothing littered the ground. The top floor, the women's and children's departments, was less of a mess, and upon checking for walkers, Bri declared all clear.

"Do you want to look for clothes here?" Bri turned to Chrissy.

Chrissy stared. "Didn't we come here for the view?"

Bri rolled her eyes and made her way from the checkout counter to the large windowpanes at the front of the facade, stepping around chunks of shattered glass with careful feet. She kept her distance from the gaping window. One wrong step would send them splat on the concrete below. Then her eyes scanned the streets. Her face fell. Her heart pounded.

Chrissy followed her lead and shoved the map of Atlanta into Bri's chest, drawing Bri from her trance. She pulled a pen from her pocket.

"What street are we on?" Chrissy asked as Bri opened the map. Bri pointed with the pen and shifted the map to focus on the downtown. Chrissy glanced out of the window and blurted what Bri already felt. "Holy shit."

Just a street over was the largest group of walkers Bri had seen thus far. There were white tents in the empty lot, a crude medical station or safe zone with black craters impeding a third of the area. The walkers moved with the wind, some kept within the fence and some sliding along the outside, following birds or street animals until they were caught or escaped. If there were a fifty or three hundred, Bri wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The parking lot they'd come from was no better, as the small herd attracted by the truck made itself known. The unison growling only attracted more. Bri's hands shook, and she crouched at the window. To the children it might have looked like she was getting a better view, but Bri was only trying not to rip open the satchel and take a drink. She still didn't have a corkscrew, that's true, but the tequila had a twist top.

"Cory, stay over there--" Chrissy started, but found her brother saddled next to her already.

His face was pale. He gulped.

"And you don't have a single plan, Goddammit!" Chrissy whispered knives, and nudged Bri with her sharp elbow.

To be far, Bri did not have a solid plan even before she let the kids tag along, so it was a lot for them to be asking for her to suddenly have all the answers.

 _No_ , Bri stopped herself, _I did this to us, I'll get us out_.

"Let's go back to the parking garage, siphon some fuel, get the truck, and we'll go around the city." Bri resolved. It's what they should have done in the first place, anyway.

Chrissy shook her head, "We're already in the middle of the city, Brigid. Blocked on two sides." she gawked. On the map, Chrissy made indicators of the parking lot and the herd at the medical tents. "It's clearer to keep on this street," she pointed to the left, where there were plenty of walkers, but more room to dodge or avoid them, "and we'll just keep going. We'll go north towards the aquarium and find away to get on, uh, 85. That'll take us out of the area." At Bri's silent embarrassment, she added. "Happy?"

Bri nodded again. Why was she so out of it? Maybe if she'd had another drink in the car, she would be more prepared for things to go awry. She could always wrack up confidence, eventually, if she got through a few drinks. Obviously, she wouldn't have wanted to drive the kids while buzzed, but maybe she would have made a better plan...

The sun was still far from high noon, and poured dim morning light around them. Cory leaned out of the window, gripping the metal bars to keep himself steady. Chrissy yelped and pulled him back inside, berating his foolishness, and glared at Bri, who had watched the boy swing halfway out the window and barely processed it. Her head was pounding harder now.

"Look for anything useful, then we'll head out." Bri tacked on, "Stay away from the windows."

Chrissy's jaw hung open as Bri retreated to the dressing rooms.

Inside, she ripped the bottle of tequila and took three gulps, lifting her mouth briefly to catch some air.

"What am I doing? What am I doing?" There was a stinging pressure behind her eyes. She found a crusting blood stain on the floor and stared, letting the alcohol burn in streams down her throat. When it didn't immediately fix her headache and shaking hands, she drank again. She recapped the bottle and tucked it away once the palpitations got worse and cheeks flushed. Hopefully the kids would just think she had just been crying, at least Cory didn't seem to know any better.

Chrissy hissed her name from the sales floor. The siblings crouched behind a shelf of jeans. Chrissy pointed towards an _Employees Only_ sign, and mouthed something Bri interpreted as _Someone's coming_.

The hatchet wiggled in Bri's unsteady grip. She ducked between two clothing racks, eyes flitting between the stairwell and the kids. Both were armed and ready, and Bri trusted Chrissy to save her brother if anything went down. She certainly wouldn't risk his life to save Bri's.

Bri used the racks as cover and edged closer to the stairwell, out of sight, but near to the threat. Quick footsteps hammered against the metal and a figure busted through, baseball bat held high. He kept in the shadows close to the walls, picking through shelves for seemingly specific items. In a matter of minutes, he had retreated into another department with fading footsteps.

Cory stood up, catching Bri's eye. "That was close." Chrissy pulled him back.

Bri motioned for them to stay crouched.

Bri stood to make sure the person stayed away from where the kids hid. She watched the placement of her feet, careful of the glass and knocked over shelves. She turned slowly, from the women's department into the kids section, and hit something solid, causing hangers to clatter to the ground. "Fuck." she whispered, and ducked back behind a clothing rack.

"Bri?" Cory's voice called out hesitantly. Bri could hear the children arguing.

Footsteps started again, growing louder towards the source of the noise. Bri stood against the corner, hatchet high.

The bat entered her field of vision before the person behind it. Then a kid, around her age, in red ball cap. 

"Woah, woah, woah--" he started.

"We don't need any trouble--" Bri stated, as solid as she could keep her fearful voice. He interrupted her.

"Brigid Mcallen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs included:  
>  _Satellite of Love_ by Lou Reed  
>  _Monday Morning_ by Fleetwood Mac  
>  _Who Do You Think You Are?_ by Candlewick Green  
>  _Go Where You Wanna Go_ by The Mamas and The Papas  
> 


	2. Misconstrued

Bri rested her forehead against the glass, cool from the blowing air conditioner.

The young man's name was Glenn, and she occasionally sang at the pizza parlor he delivered for. He seemed excited, not necessarily starstruck, but glad to see a familiar face had survived the bombings. Bri apologized for not recognizing him, but he brushed it off. Said he was just glad to help out a local celebrity, a tag she didn't agree with, but didn't correct.

He was driving them out of the city, out onto roads they had already taken, and then towards the forested hills surrounding his camp.

Glenn had invited the group to join his, too quickly for Bri's liking, but she had no clue what else to do. She was already embarrassed Chrissy could take charge so easily, and growing ashamed of how she couldn't perform daily tasks without a drink in hand. It hadn't been an issue on her own, she was a walking party and she was fine with that. It was having to consider the needs of two children before the needs of herself which was grating. She thought about shoving the kids into Glenn's care and bolting, but such a cruel course of action would be a disservice to Cory, who had looked up at her with those huge brown eyes. They needed this. But did Bri?

In an unfamiliar truck driven to an unfamiliar location by an unfamiliar man, while two unfamiliar children bickered half-heartedly in the backseat, Bri understood it. Why her mother had left her and Benny all those years go. The fear of responsibility ground Bri's nerves to nubs. She put herself into such an immobile position where there was no course of action beside stepping up. Had it been an hour since her drink in the dressing room? Yeah, she needed another.

"Brigid?" She lifted her head to Glenn's voice. "You good?"

"Sure." Bri forced a smile which made him chuckle awkwardly.

"Alright, so when we get to camp, Shane is gonna be the one to talk to. He's a cop, set this place up. He can be, uh, scary. But not much'll scare you or them, I bet."

Scariest man on the highway becomes de facto leader of a terrified group of survivors of a city-wide bombing, on top of the dead walking around. Bri's hand itched, reaching momentarily for her satchel. She clenched her fists to quell the urge.

"No, not much."

The camp wasn't large, and there were maybe thirty people milling around an RV and a handful of parked cars. A few smoldering campfires were littered between tents. Glenn told to them to stay put while he spoke to Shane.

Chrissy's hot breath rushed at Bri's ear and scared the shit out of her. "Tell them you know us." At Bri's confusion, she continued. "We're just kids you were babysitting. It's less weird that way."

They kind of _were_ kids she was babysitting. "Would they believe you need a babysitter?" Bri began to question the logistics, but Chrissy huffed steam. "Alright, I've known you for years, happy?"

"Only a few." Chrissy glowered. She checked for Cory's comprehension, and he nodded that he understood. Would this help gain sympathy? Was this why Glenn was so quick to accept them, because they presented themselves, albeit accidentally, as a family unit?

Bri's door pulled open. The sunlight streaming in became instantly blocked by a sweating man in a King's County baseball cap and black muscle shirt. He might have been handsome if his features weren't twisted so severely.

"I'm Officer Shane Walsh." Bri went to lift her hand in greeting, but he pushed it to her lap. He proved to be a menacing presence, exuding confidence and warning that disagreeable actions would be met with hostility. "Any one of you bit, scratched?" She shook her head, willing away her fear. His features lifted into something more neutral. "Alright, come on, we'll talk."

The three newcomers filtered out of the car, one door, likely Chrissy's, slammed with excessive force. On their feet, gauging the camp was easier. The people were unarmed, save Shane, whose gun peeked from his waistband. Nearest to the camp entrance, a young blonde woman struggled to tie off a piece of string, what appeared to be the start of a clothesline running adjacent to the scattered tents. Glenn grabbed a step-ladder from beside the RV and sprinted to her aid.

Cory paled and backed into Bri, relying on her center of gravity to stand upright. Bri could assume this was all overwhelming. So much had happened to the siblings in the past few days, from what Bri pieced together, and she didn't blame him for freezing still beside her. Unsure, Bri placed a hand on his shoulder, steering him to where Shane now stood, beneath the shade of the RV's canopy. Shane observed the trio with an adamantine stare, sizing them up. It took a moment for Bri to consider his focus rested solely on her. With a hatchet in one hand and the young boy safeguarded by the other, Bri didn't know if she was emulating _Adventures in Babysitting_ or _Halloween_.

If Chrissy was intimidated by the height and brawn of the man, she didn't show it. She spoke with an extended hand. "Officer, I'm Chrissy Bernal-Rawlins, and this is my brother, Cory. And Bri." Though Bri covered a snicker, she was content to let Chrissy be the boss; pettiness wasn't worth the trouble. She didn't miss the humorous look from Shane.

"Well, there's no guessin' who's in charge here." Chrissy huffed at being mocked. Shane spoke directly to Bri. "We got some kids, probably off doin' schoolwork." Cory and Chrissy balked. "Tryin' to keep some sort of normalcy, y'know. Everybody's got chores, we'll shift some around, find stuff for y'all to do. Only big rules are keepin' dark and quiet at night, 'n' always stay where someone else can see ya."

Bri nodded, he seemed reasonable enough. An imposing figure, but not as scary as Glenn hyped him up to be. "How long've y'all been out here?"

"This'll be day... three." He concluded, rubbing his stubble. From the exhaustion settled in the bags under his eyes, Bri determined Shane had not slept a wink in the time since establishing camp. "Set up after Atlanta fell. How've y'all fared thus far?"

"Stayin' on the outskirts, stayin' on the move." Bri was vague. "Hopin' to find family." She tacked on.

Shane surveyed the camp. "Well, we don't have tents to spare, Glenn'll get more on his next run." Glenn looked up from his discussion with the blonde girl, confused at the mention of his name. "So, y'all might have to make friends until we figure somethin' out."

Glenn approached and Shane put the responsibility to him. "Y'all already know Glenn, he'll help y'all get caught up." Without waiting for a reply, he left Glenn to be tour guide.

The blonde girl joined. "Hi, I'm Amy!" She touched Bri's shoulder lightly, and didn't seem to notice Bri flinch as she held it there. "Glenn said you're a singer. Wish I could sing."

"Wish she could, too." Chrissy muttered so only Bri would catch it.

Bri ignored her. "Yeah, I was. What do y'all have for, like, a watch group?"

"Like, perimeter checks?" Glenn clarified. Bri nodded. "Tin can system, and we've got two brothers that hunt, so they're taking care of the woods. Dale watches from the RV." He pointed to an old white man wearing a bucket hat, who was turned away from his watchpoint to speak to people below. The weak demonstration of manpower was not comforting, and Glenn sensed Bri's concern. "It's twenty-four/seven, Shane will love you if you offer." Bri trusted herself more than the distracted old man, and agreed to offer her assistance to Shane. "Come on, everyone's cool."

Only then did Amy release Bri's arm, and helped usher the kids forward. "What's your name?" Amy leaned over Cory and spoke with the warmth of a kindergarten teacher. He answered her. "He could be Carl's long-lost brother." This sent Glenn's eyes rolling, but Bri had nothing to compare him to.

A pig-faced man brushed by them, shoving Chrissy, and prompted a, "Hey, what the fuck?" The word was still foreign in Chrissy's mouth, like she had only just picked up swearing as part of her teen angst persona. For a moment, it seemed like the man would keep walking, but he whipped around enraged.

"The fuck do you think you're talking to--"

"A little-dicked bi--" Those were fighting words, and Pig Face accepted them as such, swinging a fist at the teen. On instinct, Bri pulled Chrissy backwards, the younger girl's shoulder talking the brunt of the hit.

"Ed! Hey, man!" Shane was beside them, pulling the man off. "Where do you end off punchin' a kid?"

Ed remained volatile, thrashing in Shane's grip. A broad-shouldered black man joined in holding him back, which did not calm him, but got him to turn and walk away regardless.

The black guy looked to Bri and Chrissy with a sympathetic gaze which read that in their short time at camp, this was not Ed's first outburst. "Sorry y'all had to witness that." Chrissy dramatically rolled her shoulder as if testing to make sure it remained attached at the socket.

"Usually saves it for his wife." Someone muttered from a tent away.

Bri thanked both of them. Shane left the group to keep an eye on Ed, and Glenn introduced the remaining man as T-Dog, who smiled warmly, "Ed's drinkin' instead of smokin' today, surprised he's that versatile."

Bri laughed, then shuddered. She didn't want the kids in a camp with people like that. But maybe _she_ was people like that. She swallowed hard.

Glenn walked them through the tents, pointing out his acquaintances.

The Morales family were still setting up, while their two children worked on times tables. At the sight of another child, their heads perked up, and their parents gave them permission to walk alongside Cory. They chattered about different animals they'd seen in the woods, but Cory was unresponsive to their light-hearted questions about his favorite things and creatures.

His silence worried Bri. He'd been quiet throughout the morning, letting Chrissy lead the charge, and unless he was naturally shy, Bri had to wonder if this was a newer quality. She remembered how Benny would shut down in his darkest moments, something like traumatic paralysis. Was this similar? Bri prayed Glenn's next refugee would be a child psychologist.

Amy excitedly introduced Bri to her sister Andrea, who was easily ten years older than her younger sister. They seemed to be opposites, like Bri and her own siblings. Only here, as Andrea's eyes twinkled over her sister's enthusiasm, Bri was reminded how much and how little love could flow between siblings; she herself experienced both extremes of the spectrum.

Amy explained how they'd been on a road trip to round out the summer. "Got more than we bargained for." Andrea's words lacked humor, pensive as she straightened the outside of their tent, and dug through a duffel of supplies. Her glassy blue eyes exuded worry. Amy seemed to be much more optimistic about their precarious situation.

"We sure did." Amy grabbed Bri's hand, and moved to introduce her to Carol and Sophia, Ed's wife and child.

Carol was gaunt, with close-cropped hair, and attached to her daughter at the hip. The two were clearly in a domestic violence situation; the purple and yellow bruises peeked beneath both Carol and her daughter's shirt sleeves. Bri did not have to meet Ed to notice the signs of trauma. Sophia's wide eyes looked to Eliza Morales and Chrissy, who stood at the back of their welcome party. Her mousy mother denied her request to walk with them, but conceded to allow them to stay in her line of sight if they wished to play. Eliza bade Cory farewell, though the boy said nothing in return, and shyly asked if Chrissy would sit with the two girls.

A comment on 'being too old for dolls' was to be expected, but Chrissy silently left the group and sat criss-crossed beside the flap of Carol's tent. Bri side-eyed the younger girl, unconvinced her presence wouldn't be enough to send Ed into another frenzy, but Chrissy glared and shooed her away as Eliza asked her what 'Chrissy' was short for. From steps away, as Glenn introduced Jacqui, Chrissy answered 'Christine' and the girls fawned over their cool, new, older girlfriend.

Cory warmed to Jacqui faster than he had the children, which left Louis Morales to go find someone else to play with

"Got the last of the good bread, if you wanna help make lunch." The older woman's dark hands shifted through boxes of ingredients, a variety which looked to have recently been thrown together by the community. "If your sister's fine with it, a'course." Jacqui directed her words to Bri.

"Babysitter." Bri corrected kindly. The lie was not too far-fetched, and she felt comfortable using the term for their relation. Like Chrissy said, it was less weird than _Hey, I just found these kids_. "And of course he can help." Cory passed her a small smile and helped Jacqui unfold a plastic card table to serve as their work station.

Glenn and Amy introduced Bri to Lori and Carl, who despite the scrawny build and brown eyes, looked nothing like Cory, as Amy had postulated; he was too pale, with hair too light. And he laughed, something Cory didn't do, with Amy at one of Glenn's lame jokes.

"You're by yourself?" Lori asked from checking Carl's workbook.

The sun beat down as afternoon neared. Bri lifted her hand to shield the brightness, squinting as she spoke. "Nah, with some kids I babysat for."

Carl grinned at the prospect of new playmates. "How old are they?"

Bri smiled to cover the fact that she did not know. "One's 'round your age. Cory."

"Cory and Carl. Sounds like a good team." Lori appealed to her son, a genial smile passing between the boy and Bri.

After some small talk, Carl was allowed to run off in search of Cory. Glenn pointed fifty yards away from the rest of the tents, were there was a haphazardly strung up tent in a clearing shaded by drooping trees.

"The Dixons' camp. Avoid them when they get back. You'll know them when you see them." Glenn was serious.

Amy nodded, "Yeah, the older one's a creep and the younger one only grunts."

Glenn and Amy discussed if the Dixon brother's habits were from drugs or alcohol or both, and Bri could imagine herself, with the Dixons not present in camp, sneaking back to their tent during the night and digging around for their stash. Glenn swore he'd seen Merle, the elder, waving around a baggie of white, but cocaine wouldn't be useful to Bri. Amy was sure the younger was a drunk, though, said he stood strangely and slugged around when he walked.

Bri had been alone for two weeks before finding the children. She didn't have to deal with awkward conversation, just walkers and the fairly easy task of looting gas stations and liquor stores. She didn't miss the stink of city-level air, but she did miss the quiet of it. How it quickly became her normal and how she accepted it as such. Glenn and Amy kept looking over for her input, but she had nothing to say, even as Glenn showed Bri to his tent.

"I'll bunk in the RV, you guys can take the tent." Bri didn't argue, as Glenn seemed to expect her to. She was overwhelmed, she wanted a drink. "If you want to rest, I'll check up later."

Bri thanked them and went to unzip the flap, but had a thought. "Will you keep an eye on the kids?" They assured her they would be fine and dandy.

Fuck a corkscrew. Bri took the keys of the abandoned red truck from her pocket and stabbed them into the cork. She was going to sit here with the bright sun blaring through the tent flap, and she was going to get drunk and go to sleep. She mixed a water bottle and a large slosh of wine, pacing herself, and poured it into her thermos. Beneath Glenn's pillow, she lay her satchel with the recorked bottle.

And Bri smiled, finally, a real, not-forced, little smile, because she was alone again, and the solitude was as comforting as the drink.

* * *

Chrissy let the girls tangle up and braid her hair to their hearts' content. She was waiting for Ed.

It was batshit to her, the fact he swung at her, like, what the hell was that, but when Chrissy saw his brittle wife and sweet little kid, she put 'fucked' and 'up' together. Briefly, she realized her sitting here might hurt more than help, but Glenn's tent, where the she-idiot was certainly getting drunk, was close by, enough so if things went south, Bri could play witness to the mess. If she wasn't blacked out already.

She didn't know what to make of Brigid, not yet. She was dumb, she was a drunk. She was avoidant and nervous, but all the same seemed to assume she was now in charge of them.

Cory wouldn't recognize it, he didn't see too deep into things. He seemed to think it was just nice they had someone around to help them. Since their parents died, she felt lucky he would even talk. Chrissy didn't know how to help him through it, much less process it herself. Asking Brigid was off the table, not when her method of coping was pretty clear.

Brigid said she was heading upstate. Would she leave them in the camp? Chrissy knew Brigid could take on walkers, but she wasn't taking care of herself. Not that Chrissy gave a shit, especially with her little freakout in Atlanta, making Chrissy figure out what to do next, nearly letting Cory fly out of an open window. But Brigid wasn't well and her alcoholism was no one's business but Brigid's. And Chrissy would make sure it stayed that way.

Ed didn't come back, and when Chrissy excused herself for lunch, she saw him lounging atop the RV like he was Henry VIII on his lawn chair throne. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his pompous air, his cigarette drooping lazily between his fingers over the arm rest as if he wanted to avoid getting ash on his tan flannel. His eyes flickered open to take a drag, and Chrissy shuffled closer the tents, out of his field of vision.

"Your hair looks nice." It was the RV's owner, Dale, wearing a lopsided grin. Chrissy did, in fact, not know or want to know what her hair looked like. "I keep mine short, keeps the kids out of it." Chrissy smiled kindly at his words. He led her to Jacqui's tent, where her brother was passing out condiment packets for those who wanted them. Dale clapped him on the shoulder and collected his meal. "Good work here, kiddo."

Cory looked up at his sister and laughed, a genuine belly laugh, at the state of her hair. If her naturally unruly hair had been mangled into something so comical that it could shatter Cory's silent treatment, Chrissy would have to ask the girls to fix her hair again the next day. "Watch out, they'll get a hold of you, too." The grin stayed painted to the apples of his cheeks.

Chrissy nearly started on her lunch, before remembering Bri. Had she even eaten breakfast? The special lemonade diet wouldn't be sustainable, so with great reluctance, Chrissy took another sandwich, one she slathered in mustard, which she found disgusting, for the hermit. Glenn's tent was unzipped to reveal Brigid asleep inside, with her thermos tipped over, spilling across her stomach.

Chrissy kicked her foot, holding their paper plates above her head. "Wake up!" She hissed, and stacked the plates atop one another so she could pull the cup upright. Thankfully, it spared Glenn's sleeping bag, but a light purple stain melded with Bri's pink shirt.

Bri stirred. "What?"

Chrissy's eyes hooded in contempt. "We've only been here like two hours, what could you possibly be drinking over?" Not a rhetorical question.

Bri treated it like it was. "Is that for me?" She took the mustard sandwich willingly which made Chrissy combust.

"You know what, no, you get the dry one." Chrissy aggressively switched the plates. Bri's nonchalant shrug fueled the younger girl's exasperation. "Speaking of dry, you need a new shirt... bitch."

The jilted tone made Bri laugh from her gut, laugh right in Chrissy's face. " _Please_. I'll change later. Glenn thinks I'm asleep anyways..." Bri lifted her thermos, frowning at how much had spilled.

"I don't know what your prob-- Well, I do, but you need to get it together." Chrissy blood ran thin. She pulled the cup from Bri's hands and dropped her volume. "What if they make us leave?"

Bri curled into herself and put her head in her hands. "Didn't make the pig leave when he decked you, _and_ also his wife and his kid, so I think we're fine." She massaged her temples with kneading fingers.

A lightbulb flashed in the back of her mind. Chrissy could briefly remember her drunken Uncle B, who often arrived hungover at family parties. A hangover was mostly just a massive headache, right? Chrissy thought of what Bri had left in the satchel, and at this rate, it would be gone in another two days. "You have migraines." She stated with conviction.

Bri's brows knit as she searched Chrissy's face for answers. "No....?"

Chrissy shoved the cup back at her. "You do, now." What part of _I'm covering you_ did Bri not read into Chrissy's words? Chrissy had never been drunk, never had the opportunity, so the possibility remained that it was just the drinking which made Bri stupid. Once the alcohol was gone, they would both have to deal with the fall out of her drunkenness, and they needed a story prepared. Bri might have screwed them over in the city, but she gave them supplies and a way out of their dying neighborhood. If Chrissy helped Bri through withdrawal, the pair would be even. Maybe they could start fresh.

Bri still didn't get it.

 _So, that's a no. Alright then_. Chrissy stomped away, pissed and conflicted, leaving Bri to refill her thermos.

* * *

Bri first heard the cicadas in the pitch black darkness. Then were light snores. And she felt the furnaces of Chrissy and Cory lying beside her. It might have been a serene moment, if Bri's head wasn't pounding. She could never differentiate the headaches, whether it was the one indicating too-much-to-drink or the one warbling that she had not drank enough; it could have been, also, the thumping from an awkwardly timed nap, which sent her reeling with momentary confusion. She felt suddenly constricted in the small space.

She left the tent with her thermos in hand, using the flame of a lamp stationed on top of the RV as her guide. The sway in her step was easily excused by the uneven gravel path. Night breezes sent goosebumps over her arms, and she crossed them to keep the warmth close to her. She sent courteous waves to the handful of people still awake; she could see the fear in their eyes, especially Miranda, Eliza's mother, who spoke softly to her husband.

A low whistle caught her attention, one coming from where Shane's imposing figure stood at his post. "Finally showin' your face around here?" Bri paused momentarily at the bite in his tone, but the following chuckle indicated a tired jape. "Just kiddin'. You eat?" She nodded, though he couldn't see her in the low lamplight. "Could use some company." She couldn't tell if he was saying he needed a buddy or asking if she did, but with a bit of effort, she rounded to the ladder and pulled herself up.

He offered her the lawn chair, and she slid against the plastics straps as he took a seat on the roof. Bri wiggled into comfortable position. "I miss anything juicy?"

Shane shook his head. His voice was low beneath a weary half-grin. "Nah, all kosher. I did wanna speak to you 'bout somethin' though."

Bri gulped, and nervously ran her fingers around the rim of her cup. She couldn't imagine why he'd speak so seriously if it weren't a dire situation.

"How long've you known those kids?"

Oh. Her warbled mind could not distinguish whether the nature of his question was casual or interrogatory. She repeated Chrissy's lie, praying the dark wouldn't betray her features. "Few years. Babysat a few times, they knew where to find me. Parents died."

Shane scraped his fingers through his hair and replaced his cap. "Figured as much. Chris played with the girls, that was nice'a her. But Cory didn't look twice at the boys runnin' around." His words pitied the both of them, and as Bri's racing heart calmed, the lamplight hit his face, and she could see the stress playing across it. "They've always been like that?"

Bri motioned nonchalantly. With no clue what they were like before their parents died, before the world shifted, she spun out something vague. "I'm just tryin' to deal with what they're givin' me now."

Shane nodded. "Carl's been different, my boy-- my best friend's boy. They're all jus' scared. That means we gotta look out for them. Part of that is keepin' 'em out of danger." She looked up, met his eyes. They were understanding and matched firm tone he took next. "I talked to Chris, she said your plan led them right in there." Bri's stomach lurched. "Now I don't know if you knew what you were walkin' into, but I pray you didn't." She shook her head, shifted her body to begin to explain, but he held up his palm. "It's all gone. You saw that." He paused, and the longer it lasted, the more she felt threatened. She hoped she misread his stare. "World's different. We," his index finger pointed between them and the rest of the camp, "we all gotta think of them, first."

Bri leaned forward, arms draped across her knees, head hung. Could she kid herself into believing her venture into Atlanta wasn't selfish? She knew it was fucked up inside the city limits. She knew going around would be slower, but likely more safe. Maybe it was the pull to see one last familiar street, or like visiting Sage's shop, saying goodbye to the old way of life. She needed to do something to make the end of the world feel more real. She picked danger and speed with the assumption the outskirts could be dangerous, when she knew damn well the city would be crawling. She sipped at her straw.

Shane continued to watch her. Bri had been around law enforcement before; they picked up and dropped off her mother and Benny plenty of times, and Mack and Reid had their share of nights in the drunk tank. The hours Bri spent in lock up were for more controversial offenses, though nothing ever stuck her in long term trouble, but she knew what radio waves Shane was tuned on to. His gaze grew steely, focusing in on her minuscule movements. He was in officer-mode, likely had been for days. He wasn't tired from it, he was fueled by it. Her hands shook for longer than she realized, and once she did, she knew Shane had seen them and made assumptions from the movement.

"I'm not tryin' to put somethin' on you that you can't handle." Shane placed his hand on her knee, which made her defensive.

She sat upright. "I'm not tryin' to shirk responsibility." Except maybe she was. Bri added quickly. "I'm lookin' out for those kids. All of them. I got it."

Shane patted her knee and removed his hand, which instantly eased Bri's psyche. "Jus' gotta make sure everyone's onboard here."

Bri leaned back looking to regain her lazy position in the lawn chair. The tense silence soon became a low-humming stillness, and Bri decided to take him at his word. He wasn't trying to threaten her, she figured, he was making sure she was on his wavelength.

Bri wasted the quiet minutes scanning the Atlanta skyline with Dale's binoculars. There were still lights blinking on radio towers, still some buildings with running electricity, but no jet planes or revving cars. No signs of life. Just the dead. Tiny specks roaming miles in the distance. At the sight of them, Bri blurted, "I have guns."

Shane raised his heavy brows, interest piqued. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah," Bri was easing on to his good side, she could tell instantly. "I can't use them, but yeah, like four handguns, some ammo."

"Damn." Shane's dumbfounded grin was genuine in the dim light. "Hell of an asset to keep from us."

"Yeah, I just didn't think about it, you know? I've just been carting them around, so..."

"I'll teach ya, so long as I can keep them locked up." She agreed to his request. "You've just made this place a helluva lot safer, Bri."

She was wide awake, and offered to take watch from Shane. Whatever she said, maybe it was the guns or the confirmation she'd be watchful of the children, made him comfortable enough to exit, patting her on the shoulder before descending the ladder.

Into the early hours of the morning, she hummed to herself, _Been down one time, been down two times_. She drank slowly, making sure the contents of her cup would last until someone took over watch.

The world had been over for all of what, two weeks? And Bri was fine with that, especially when she was alone. No student loans, no uncertain career paths, no petty drama, hell, her friends were probably all dead, so there was no one to cause any problems but her... In a matter of days, all of her biggest issues disappeared. Most of them anyway. It was kind of like a fresh start, and maybe she was a piece of shit for thinking that. She knew people were suffering all around her. Here she was. End of the world. Mostly just chilling. Having herself a grand ole time.

Bri vaguely remembered how Chrissy had woken her up, and what she said. The younger girl worried Bri's habits would get them kicked out, an unfounded fear in Bri's opinion, as the people here weren't going to kick out kids. Bri maybe, but not the siblings. If Chrissy told the truth, was sincere in her promise to cover Bri's habits with the lie of migraines, maybe Bri could get some use out of those painkillers. Ease the symptoms of withdrawal. She'd been drinking steadily since Benny died, she couldn't quit cold turkey, but her bag would run out soon, and Bri had no quick solution. 

Chrissy seemed to have her back in a roundabout way. Maybe it was accidental support, too, because Chrissy clearly cared the most about her brother; Bri's discretion would keep Cory in a temporarily safe place, while the rest of them figured out how to move forward. Sober, Bri would feel like shit, but the responsibility of watching out for the kids would fill up the hours she would otherwise be drinking away.

Sobriety was a fleeting thought, optimism stemming from Shane's positivity towards Bri, but with how adverse she was to the idea of guardianship, it didn't last.

The lights of the city winked and occasionally one would flicker out, or a flash of movement the size of an ant would pull her focus from one point to the next, only for her slow reflexes to end her looking out at nothing.

At some point, she was back to singing, beneath her breath, barely audible, anything and everything she learned from Benny. Anything which could remind her of the person she was before he left her. He had loved the big names, the Freddie Mercurys and the Bowies and Eltons, but his queen was Stevie Nicks. He emulated her in his style of dress and the fashion was the magnetism which drew Sage to Benny, Bri could tell after the fact. His affinity for the music didn't hurt either.

Their dad was into classic rock, but once Bri discovered the artists of the time who were in or were heavily influenced by the gay community, she could point out the gaps in her father's catalog. And when Benny got kicked out for sneaking a guy into the house, Bri knew what kind of people her family where, even at, what, thirteen? She caught on.

Her step-mother, Tamara, as kind as she could be, had left behind the photo albums of Benny and Bri's life before she married their father. At first glance, it was selfishness, but almost understandable; Tammy's kids weren't in them, why would she want them? But not only were the technically her kids, too, they were her husband's children, and clearly he didn't care enough to add a handful of albums to the half-empty tub they shoved in the back of Mack's pickup.

And they left Bri herself behind. To house-sit. Make sure their home was safe. Her father and brothers took all of the guns they could remember-- Bri was shocked they forgot the ones they did-- and instead of insisting the youngest, the drunk, the defenseless sister get into the truck, the able-bodied, football-playing boys all hopped in, asking her lamely to follow behind if it got bad in the city.

Jesus, how fucked up was that? Drinking had, for years, suppressed her anger, but in the stillness, with the birds beginning to squawk out their morning songs, she began to feel it fueling a fire.

An unfamiliar voice hollered to her from the ground. She snapped, "What?"

"Damn, girlie, that ain't no way to treat the good men providin' for this settlement." Her gut said it was the Dixons, back from whatever hole, and she wished they would return. Her veins already hummed, growing irritated by her looping thoughts, fueled by the drink in her cup. Based on Glenn and Amy's warnings, Bri wanted nothing to do with them; from her view atop the RV, she could see the brothers, a familiar type of redneck she had plenty of experience dealing with.

Bri stood but didn't have to go far. Below was one man, carrying a bag of something dead, Bri could tell from the stench. Gripping the ladder was another, a bulky, paste-white man in a wife-beater and vest, whose smell was no better, body odor cutting through the once crisp morning air. "Well, shi-it, you were a lot hotter from far away."

"Um, sorry?" Bri did not miss the audacity of men. She reached for her cup. "Do you need somethin'?"

"You look fucked up." He leaned towards her in curiosity, invading her precious personal bubble, but Bri was more worried her appearance was so sordid that this man felt the need to point it out. He sniffed and yelled off the RV to his brother. "A drunk little girl on watch, you believe this shit... protecting the camp..." He pulled at her shirt to inspect the wine stain, and Bri yanked herself away. His disregard for decencies made her skin crawl.

She was sure she could catch him off-guard and push him off of the RV if necessary. Bri willed herself to speak with composure. "You here to relieve me?"

He laughed. "I was hopin' you'd be the one to relieve _me_ , darlin'--"

"Man, Merle, leave the kid alone." The brother's gravelly voice was soft, but enough to get Merle's energy away from Bri.

With no one else awake, she had no defense, and no one to take over watch, so she simply moved the lawn chair to the far side of the RV, and set-up shop again, as Merle argued loudly, near one-sided, with his brother. She sipped with apathy at the dredges of her thermos, and the bickering eventually subsided, with Daryl, the younger, going to cook up some squirrel for breakfast.

She saw movement in her peripheral, and readied to verbally defend herself once more. Merle's hands were raised in mock shock at the roll of her eyes. "Jus' tryin' to catch your name, darlin'. Don't do any good to jus' call you the 'Drunk RV Bitch', jus' don't roll off the tongue."

Bri hesitated, but gave her name, figuring things would be easiest if she complied. Maybe then he would leave her alone, too.

"Real pretty. Jus' like you." At Bri's arched brow Merle shrugged. "Well, not lookin' so puffy."

Bri's jaw set. "Do you need somethin'?" She repeated.

His hands remained raised. "Y'ain't gotta do nothin' but let me keep you company."

Bri knew what company from a man like Merle meant. She could stare at the skyline, look out for threats, twiddle her thumbs, think of her potentially dead family members or her definitely dead brother... Bri literally could be doing anything else. "I don't need company."

Merle relented, and his condescending tone turned to something more mean-spirited. "Seems ya spilled it down your front already, I geddit."

Bri scoffed and stood to leave. Her head was pounding, and the sun was rising. If Merle abandoned post, Bri would just say he promised to take over. Who would Shane believe between the two or them?

Crossing by the makeshift cooking station, a large pot and skewer over a simmering flame, Bri thought she heard muttered words, "Sorry 'bout him." But when she turned, Daryl Dixon was fully focused on gutting a woodland creature, and she figured it was just wishful thinking to assume either of the pair could be more pleasant than Glenn and Amy made them out to be.

* * *

Chrissy woke to belligerent shouting, coming from the direction of the common area, the clearing surrounding the RV.

Cory hadn't stirred, so she let him rest. He was peaceful, albeit snoring with the power of a small lawnmower. Every so often, he would snuffle, bringing forth memories of when he was younger and fussier. The five year gap between them had not been a problem until the past year or so, as Chrissy joined the local soccer and tennis teams, and Cory started up with the junior STEM clubs hosted by a nearby high school. Their differentiating schedules and troubles involving family finances severed the family of four. A group of incredible team players fractured at the core because of drunk Uncle B and Mrs. Shelton, and their separate but respective issues which roped Chrissy's parents into months of mess. The world ending could have been the Bernal-Rawlins family-bonding exercise from Hell that the entire unit needed to whip themselves back into shape. But, no, her parents couldn't even make it a month into this shit, didn't even go out heroically, like all those people on the news who got shot up after saving NICU babies from Atlanta hospitals. They just fucking left her, Chrissy, alone, with Cory, to fall into the awaiting arms of her mother's worst nightmare.

Brigid was out of sight, which, like a missing toddler, could only mean the older girl was somewhere making a mess of herself. Chrissy lacked interested in babysitting the 'babysitter' and wondered if anyone would blame her for actively avoiding Bri. Or would the separation draw too much attention to their trio?

To Chrissy's honest surprise, she found Bri approaching the tent, stale stain on full display, badly hidden by the thermos. Bri's sour face brightened at the sight of Chrissy, who could only imagine the stupid, pretty fuck-up wanted something. "G'morning. Y'all sleep fine?"

Chrissy realized she had. The first night in days Chrissy had not kept watch while her brother slept, and the first night since her parents' deaths where her sleep was dreamless. She smiled before she could catch herself. "Yes..." When Chrissy's eyes returned to Bri's, she caught sight of something like relief, before noticing the red rim around them, like someone had taken a marker to her lash lines. Chrissy was shocked the older girl wasn't blinking out blood. Her airy tone turned judgmental. "Did you take watch like this?"

Bri motioned wildly with her empty cup, dramatizing her words. "Yeah, but it's no big deal. I took a nap before, so..."

Chrissy briefly entertained the concept of the existence of a higher power or some spirit watching out for her and Cory and the rest of the camp, because there was no way on earth Brigid could be this stupid and this lucky. "Looks like you need another one." She opted to breath deeply and recenter herself with a friendly, forced smile. "Heard anything about breakfast?"

"Squirrel."

Chrissy balked. "Like, Chip and Dale? We're eating Chip and Dale for breakfast?"

Bri's dumb face turned sideways. "I don't think-- were they squirrels?"

Bri became intensely curious about the semantics, and zoned out, stepping away towards the tent, leaving Chrissy to wander into the open.

Chrissy was not the only personal roused by the shouting. "Was Bri on watch?" Glenn asked, and she nodded. "Thought I heard her earlier. You look well-rested."

"I am, thanks for the tent." Chrissy's hands found her sweatpants pockets, her hips squaring out to a more authoritative stance, which seemed to catch Glenn off guard. "Speaking of, we need more. We need to start making a list, things to grab from in the city."

Glenn affirmed. "That's why I was out there yesterday, grabbing stuff."

"Didn't grab enough. Not for if you keep-- like, not enough if you plan on bringing more people out here." She tilted her head, keeping eye contact. Her words weren't effective, she knew, but her mom always said Chrissy escaped the womb with a Resting Bitch Face. Maybe she could tweak the stare to her advantage.

To her shock, Glenn took a step towards the cooking station, cowering slightly at the younger girl. "We'll talk to Shane about it after breakfast."

"You're lucky you found us." Chrissy spoke assertively, though the reality was the inverse. Glenn's movement stopped, and Chrissy instantly knew she had misspoken, trying to play the role of the big dog again, like she'd tried to when introducing herself to Shane. It wasn't cowardice in Glenn's face, it was incredulity. He must have thought she was an idiot. Chrissy recovered without groveling. "Bri and us have gone through mess out there. We'll be helpful."

"I bet." Glenn smiled in his kind way, and something told Chrissy he understood where she was coming from. Trying to prove herself. Chrissy prayed she didn't appear as pathetic as she felt. He clapped a hand on her shoulder and led her towards an unfamiliar man by the makeshift kitchen. "Let's eat."

Cory soon joined them on a log near the low smoking fire. He softly told the pair how Bri's snoring woke him. He wasn't angry, Cory was never angry, but his eyes were bloodshot.

Chrissy was guilty. She should have stayed awake longer to make sure he slept soundly. It was selfish of her to take advantage of the moderate safety she felt in the camp. She needed to take better care of her brother. And Bri needed to try harder, too.

The quiet man skinning and cooking squirrels served Cory first. It was a solid slab, the largest section of meat it seemed, and the man tossed him a ketchup packet. While Glenn and Chrissy received scraps and no condiments, Chrissy made sure to thank the man, and encouraged Cory to as well.

The man grunted uncomfortably, signifying he had heard them. "Gon' have that lady make up a stew with the rest." He slunk off towards the clearing behind the tents, leaving four plates similar to Cory's, for Eliza, Louis, Sophia, and Carl, and another two with stacks of shredded meat which had separated from the main chunks.

"Who was that?" Chrissy asked Glenn once the man was out of sight. Four plates for four kids. Scraps for the grown ups. Chrissy decided the man was all right.

Glenn swallowed. "Daryl. His brother's up there." He motioned to the roof of the RV, where a large man was eating his fill of squirrel mixed with a can of soup. "Useful, but..."

"Weird." Cory finished, licking his fingers. "Can I bring a plate to Bri?"

"She can eat when she wakes up." Chrissy snapped, sending Cory's focus quickly back to his empty plate. Glenn shrunk into himself. She blamed her irritation on Bri, and weakly lightened her tone. "I'll check on her in a bit, Cor. S'all good."

Chrissy passed out plates accordingly; the parents were thankful for the Dixons' contributions, and relieved when Shane arrived to take over for Merle, whose vocal rendition of the military bugle wake-up call was less than welcoming. It was Chrissy's understanding that Bri had abandoned her post, leaving a half-asleep creep in her place. Which is exactly what Chrissy was learning to expect, just 24 hours after she met the older girl.

Watching the younger children eat and chat made Chrissy melancholic. They would have been friends if they met at school, most kids could be, easily. The girls both thought Chrissy was a princess and she was no one to ruin their momentary bliss. She just wished Cory would engage with Carl and Louis, be more carefree, but he was there when she put down her parents. He was an orphan, trying to be comforted by boys who had not seen anything worse than the bombs falling from the highway.

What was becoming grating, however, in a petty irritation which reminded her of middle school drama, was the way Amy and Glenn were magnetized to Bri. No _Good morning, Chrissy_ from the latter. Just an _Aw, did I miss the cute drunk girl?_ Chrissy could almost hear Amy's lilted, wind-carried voice asking for Bri's whereabouts, and the hypothetical made her teeth grind. At dinner the previous night, while Bri was blacked out in the tent, neither of Bri's new admirers could shut the fuck up about her.

Could it be jealousy? Not that Chrissy was whining for attention, but there was no one her age in the camp. Glenn already had a predetermined attachment to Bri because, what, she sang some pretty songs once? Glenn hadn't seen Bri or Chrissy under pressure, and Chrissy had to wonder who he would follow after in case of an emergency-- the kid who was right, or the quote-unquote 'adult' whose luck is sure to run out soon. Chrissy didn't want to admit she already knew the answer; Shane had laughed in her face, before, and she imagined anyone else would, too.

It didn't help her anguish to see Cory's first reaction was to bring Bri food, but Chrissy figured Cory didn't see anything to hold against Bri; if anything, he felt indebted. Chrissy would have to explain, later, that, no, they did not owe her anything.

* * *

"Have you really never fished before?"

Amy's twinkling giggles rippled like the green-blue waves they sailed on. The presence of Bri in the boat was purely superficial. She had the empty wicker basket where the fish would be deposited balanced between her knees, while her thermos was tucked between the basket and her abdomen. She yawned relentlessly in the late afternoon air, still tired from watch the night before. 

The softly rocking boat had not irritated Bri's stomach yet, but she could imagine it would with time. Her inexperience on the water exacerbated the fear that she would soon barf over the edge, scaring away the fish, so she kept her feet planted to the hull as Amy held the rod patiently.

Bri never managed to go fishing. Once upon a time, Mack extended a pity-invite for her to go to the lake with some of his college friends, but it had only been a matter of weeks since Benny's death, and fuck no, she did not want to shotgun beers with twenty-something homophobes who would poke fun at her when the teen began to cry over her dead gay brother. So she never went fishing. "Nah. Not the outdoorsy type."

Though her hands never left their steady position on the fishing rod, Amy turned to look at Bri. "Do you think _I_ am?" Bri examined Amy's thin pink tank and khaki shorts, and how her blonde hair was plaited neatly in two braids down her back, away from the splash zone. There was no real judgement to be made based on her clothing, as Bri was dressed similarly in clean, borrowed clothes, with her brown ponytail high and off of her neck in the summer heat. It was how Amy sat, how comfortable she was, crouched in the boat, compared to Bri, which set them apart.

"Aren't you from Florida? Isn't outdoorsy, like, the norm?" One could argue for the idea any typical girl from Georgia might be the same, but Bri left her statement unamended and passed Amy a hint of a dejected smile. "Once my dad got step-sons, he didn't try too hard to convert me and my brother into what we weren't. Shame on us for growin' up near the city, right?"

If Amy heard the melancholy playing on Bri's words, she ignored it to ask, "What are your brothers like?"

 _Weak-willed bastards who left their sister behind_. "Two were step, so they were just people I lived with. Benny was my man, though. Beginnin' to end." The past tense of the reference, in conjuncture to Amy's present tense, to both Benny and her step-brothers was enough to ignite a stinging feeling behind Bri's eyes. She shook her head and took a swig from her straw.

"Sucks." Amy pulled back the line, reeling in nothing. After setting it aside, she gripped Bri's hands in her own, careful to keep the thermos from tipping beneath them. Bri cringed at the contact and her fingers shook between Amy's clasped grip. The brunette's lip began to tremble. "Dad says no crying in the boat" Amy's whisper broke as Bri choked back a sob, a golf ball in her throat. Fuck Amy's dad, wherever he was, Bri needed to throw a fit. Her arms ran cold with goosebumps and her constricted chest limited the airflow to her brain, leaving her dizzy and nauseous from both sorrow and the rocking of the boat. But she wouldn't cry here, and tipped her head back as if gravity would suck the tears back into their ducts. Bri allowed Amy to rest on her shoulder, the blonde sobbing against her bare skin left salty trails in her wake.

Though both girls ached for missing family, Amy's focus had to have been on her parents, somewhere in Florida, with no way to contact their daughters. Bri thought of Benny only, how he would hate to see her now, drunk and crying in a boat. Anyone could have guessed Bri would end up this way one day, but Benny would never reprimand her, he would love and support and cherish her for all her fuck-ups, and he should be there with them, laughing and chatting and helping Bri learn to fish even if he himself had no clue how. Benny shouldn't be at the bottom of some shitty hole upstate.

"Fuck." Bri let out. Amy dried her own tears before swiping her fingertips beneath Bri's reddened eyelids.

Amy picked up the fishing rod and through sniffles, attempted to catch supper. "They're out there waiting for you. I know it. Family doesn't abandon family." Bri's words had been misconstrued entirely by Amy and her optimism, but Bri's exhaustion prohibited her from correcting the blonde. In fact, Amy seemed to speak more to herself, confirming quietly her prayers of reuniting with her and Andrea's parents. And Bri realized she didn't give a shit if she ever saw Mack or Reid or Tamara or her dad ever again. _Family doesn't abandon family_.

So, Bri straightened her posture, and redirected, "What college were you at?"

"I'm at Emory." Bri whistled low, impressed, earning a laugh from Amy. "You?"

"State school."

"Cool, so you sing on the side?" Bri didn't miss the tense of her words, still in the present, as if school would begin again in several weeks, right on schedule, and everything would be as it was.

Amy caught several medium-sized fish, and managed not to waste too much bait in the process. Bri added little to the conversation. The denial Amy's voice grew grating. Missing Benny was still cloaked over Bri's heart, but Amy's tone and verbiage sent gulps of vodka flowing through the straw to Bri's mouth, silencing words of aggravation which threatened to bubble over.

"It's so good to have a girl to chat with." The pair docked the boat on the shoreline. Amy took care of roping it to the deck, while Bri adjusted to the stationary ground beneath her. Each arm tucked away an object, beneath one, the basket of fish, and in the other, her thermos. Amy looked over expectantly.

"Yeah, it is." The older girl gave no impression of doubting Bri's affirmation, and to Bri's discomfort, Amy wrapped her thin arm around her shoulder. The two walked back to the campfire where earlier Andrea had offered to teach Chrissy and Cory how to gut the fish. Amy took the basket from its precarious position and passed it off to her sister. The frowning, curly-headed teen beside them gave a disapproving hum.

Before Chrissy could make any negative comments, Bri excused herself and returned to Glenn's tent.

The man himself scrambled to his feet, He was chipper, more so than Bri was willing to entertain at the moment. "Oh, hey, what's up!"

She thought of something quick. A necessary item which would limit conversation. "Nothin' much, but I have somethin' for you." She ducked into the tent and returned within the minute.

James Sandoval's pocket-notebook and the illustrated map of Atlanta were extended to Glenn, who took them with slight confusion. Bri explained. "Found the notes on a guy, added them to the map. Sure they've changed since, but if you ever end up west of Buckhead..."

Glenn flipped through the scribbled pages before storing it away and unfolding the map. "Holy shit. Yeah. Can I add on to this, when I'm out there?"

"It's your's." Bri waved away his concern, not considering that she may one day be in need of it. "If you're doin' supply runs, might help to plan--"

"Thank you so much. Holy shit." He turned it around, using his fingers to mark the location of the quarry in relation to potential supply caches within the city, speaking out the names of stores and neighborhoods beneath his breath.

Bri sighed in relief. The disappointing and emotionally draining conversation with Amy had zapped any spring in her step, and Bri was reared to nap until dinner. For all she slept, she never felt rested, and searched for the escape every chance she could get. "Thank James Sandoval." She gave Glenn a parting, two-finger salute and crouched into the tent, leaving him pouring over the thick-lined indications, enraptured.

He nudged her awake an hour later, saying there were some chores to be done before the sun went down.

Bri could have insisted she had done her fair share of work by keeping Amy company on the boat, but she instead forced a smile and followed him out.

Lori leaned laboriously over a medieval washboard, scrubbing out what looked to be Carl's clothing. Stationed beside her was Chrissy, who was in charge of taking the wet article and pinning it to the clothesline. "You look well."

Chrissy huffed and muttered something. Bri smiled at Lori to spite the child. "Got a good nap in. Need help?"

Bri's offer made Chrissy stand and leave. Lori's wide eyes followed the teen as she stomped away after throwing the clothespins on the ground.

Lori laughed and motioned to the step ladder Chrissy once stood on. "Wanna take over?" Bri settled into position, and the women quickly developed a pattern of movement and easy conversation. The instant Bri made the mistake of telling Lori she used to sing, the mother implored Bri to sing at dinner and wasn't satisfied until Bri caved and said she'd do it one day.

Lori hadn't volunteered much of her own past, only that her husband had been in a coma, and died before Shane could save him. She spoke highly and personally of their leader, and said he had been a friend of the family for years, which explained Shane's immense care over Carl. Bri already liked the man, but Lori's exaltations were enough to affirm Bri's opinion of him. Bri had no clue what was around the corner, what would happen to any of them in these anomalous circumstances, but she trusted Shane's judgment would be a steady step forward. Lori agreed when Bri stated as much.

"Chrissy give you any grief?" Bri shifted to the topic of the girl. She knew Chrissy was smart and thought Bri was the scum beneath her shoes, but Bri hadn't exactly given her reason otherwise. Bri just needed to know-- if Chrissy was worried about Bri's actions getting them kicked out, as she vaguely remembered the girl yelling, Chrissy couldn't take the tone she took with Bri around other adults.

Lori chuckled with little humor. "She had select words about you."

Jesus. Bri began to spin a lie. "Yeah, well, her parents didn't like me too much, so I can imagine--"

The woman looked momentarily confused, then continued, elbow deep in sudsy water. "She thinks you're not taking care of yourself, and that it could interfere with your care for Cory. She's very concerned for the both of you."

Lori's words were not nearly as bad as it could have been, though Bri couldn't imagine Chrissy meant much by them. Like Bri, she was lying through her teeth. "Things are just weird now." Bri conceded. Her words were true enough. "I don't know what I'm doin' with myself now, much less with them."

"That's parenting." Lori paused her working and gazed to Bri with the utmost sympathy. "You're gettin' thrown into it, and it sucks when you don't want to, but you're in it." Her voice lowered as her eyes scanned the tents behind them. "None of us are winnin' _Mother of the Year_ , but if you're hurtin', watch how Miranda is with Eliza and Louis. They're all scared, but she's got them learnin', doin' chores, helpin' out. Keeps all of us sane."

The image of children hunched over their worksheets fleetingly passed, and she remembered the Morales family from the day before. But was that useful? Bri had seen the streets, walked them, killed the undead. The calculations needed to survive out there weren't mathematical, they were instinctual. Shit, even Bri didn't have that down yet. She decided to be honest. "Just wonderin' if they'll need all that, y'know?" Bri clipped the final pair of pants and met Lori's eyes. "I mean, I have to wonder... if things are past that?"

Either Lori didn't understand, or she refused to admit the younger girl was right. Her words were clipped. "I think it's good to keep things normal."

Lori's reluctance stacked upon Amy's denial made Bri prepare to step into the woods to throw a hissy-fit of biblical proportions. The voice she least wanted to hear electrified the charge of her fury.

"Brigid..." The valley girl tone drew her name over several extend syllables. "your meal is ready." Chrissy's presence was the last thing Bri needed. Her curly hair was newly tied back and her fingers tapped on slim hips.

Bri nudged into the girl as she passed her, heading to the cooking station to collect. Chrissy yelped out an exaggerated _Owww-ch_.

"Watch it." The warning spilled from Bri's lips, matching Chrissy's tense energy. She stomped away in an ode to Chrissy's incessant angst, setting up shop beside Amy and Glenn, who each stifled laughter at the pitiful display. Chrissy fled the scene, likely to find a hole to sulk in.

Glenn leaned over his plate, catching the dripping tartar sauce. "She's like a," He took a bite, "like a chihuahua. Except, she scares me."

The blood in Bri's veins hummed. She couldn't eat fast enough, knowing once she returned to Glenn's tent, she could drink away the unfavorable emotions of the day. Benny's death and her family's desertion. Amy's refusal to see the world for what it became. The way Lori tsked away the uncertain future. And Chrissy. Whatever her fucking deal was, Bri truly did not understand her. Chrissy's lukewarm energy was unnecessary, and Bri wondered if she would be able to avoid her without being too obvious.

"What if she like, punched you?" Amy giggled through a bite. "I mean, it's not like Shane could arrest you."

"I could take her." Bri deadpanned. The moment the conversation inevitably drifted off-subject, Bri would make her leave.

Glenn asked, looking sideways, "Be as bad as Ed, punching a kid?"

"It acts like an adult, it talks like an adult..." The beds of Bri's fingernails became enthralling. No, Bri would not initiate a fist fight with Chrissy, but if the shoe fits, she'll defend herself. Bri let Glenn and Amy talk at her for five minutes longer, five minutes of a volcano boiling in the pit of her stomach. "Well, I don't know about y'all, but I'm tired, so, good night."

A small chorus of _good nights_ replied. After their heart-to-heart or whatever happened in the boat, Amy was even more comfortable with wrapping Bri in a stifling embrace. Being released, she scurried away. Chrissy made herself scarce as Bri approached the tent flap, not even bothering to scowl. Good. Bri was sick of people.

One bottle down, one to go. The uncertainty of how she would replenish her supply would have made her spew fish-chunks across the sleeping bags, had Bri not quickly settled onto her side in the fetal position, sucking on her straw like a baby.

Fuck Chrissy. Fuck migraines. Fuck Lori for insinuating Bri had agreed to the clammy clutches of motherhood. Fuck Amy for letting Bri get worked up. Fuck Glenn for picking them up in Atlanta.

If Bri still hated their guts in the morning, as she was growing to, she would steal a truck and drive away. She didn't belong here. She belonged somewhere on the road alone, drink in hand, with no attachments.

So help her, no one deserved to have to rely on her for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Never Going Back Again_ by Fleetwood Mac  
> 


	3. Concession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for a breakdown which ends in self harm, about halfway through. the most graphic bit is denoted with asterisks, but the event is mentioned throughout. please take care of yourself and skip this if it could be triggering

Bri woke up forgetting she had decided to hate everyone in camp. But it didn't take more than a day to remind herself. At the end of her last bottle, which she was proud of herself for making last, she and the kids had been at the quarry for over a full week.

 _Yes, Amy, there is such a thing as a stupid question_. During their conversations in the boat, Bri considered more than spoke about her brothers, and the cowards which made up her family. Bri knew her bait box of trauma was full of sharps, and by not disclosing the personal business Amy tried to puzzle out, Bri was doing the girl a huge favor. But Amy did not understand Bri's silence was not an invitation.

Bri came to enjoy Andrea's company, and with her there to scowl at Amy's prying questions, the three could talk casually. Amy caught on, but the restraint in her voice remained strong. There were rules about not crying in the boat, because it scared away the fish, but the mounting tension worked too. After three days of pitiful catch, Andrea told Bri to take her place helping Miranda and Jacqui wrangle the children. Her tone indicated this wasn't a suggestion.

Despite having no issue with Andrea, since Bri didn't want to babysit all day either, Bri did not show up to help. Instead, she stayed on the outskirts of camp, nursing a flask she'd stolen from the RV, and hiding until Glenn found her under a tree. She used the migraine lie, that camp was too loud during the day. With an awkward pat on the back, he promised to ask around for pain pills.

Bri moved positions along the perimeter, hoping to stay elusive, but Sophia and Eliza foiled her plan. They pulled Chrissy behind them.

"There you are!" Chrissy huffed out an exasperated, childlike laugh. "We were looking _everywhere_. Andrea said you'd help out today." A dramatic shrug caught Bri's attention, and Chrissy's eyes were in flames. "Y'just must've forgot." She tapped a finger against her temple, and as the girls ran back to camp, Chrissy's face dropped, and the rage was no longer contained. "Listen here, shit-for-brains," She got braver by the minute, "if I'm helpin' out, you are, too."

Why couldn't the parents watch their own children?

Lori did chores or collected plants from the forest, with Shane often trailing behind her inconspicuously. Carol stayed near Sophia, doing something at Ed's behest, watching nervously while the children played. Miranda and Jacqui could have been smoking pot behind the RV for all Bri knew, because the moment Andrea signed Bri up for the shittiest position in camp, she saw neither of them from the sunshiney, mid-day hours of ten to four. Every day for the rest of the week, Bri and Chrissy laid in hundred degree weather with no sunscreen; Bri ended up boiled, with peeling cheeks and shoulders, while Chrissy's brown skin deepened into a catalog-ready tan. Satan's spawn ran a-muck.

There was no way they were this way before, right? But it would explain why Miranda ducked out, and why Lori thought the former did such a great job at mothering. Neither woman gave two shits about what their children were doing.

_No, Carl, I won't do your times tables. Eliza, I don't know shit about the presidents._

Bri passed her own folding duties off to Carl and Louis to keep them occupied, while the girls tidied their tents, and Cory helped Dale on the newly smoking RV. Whatever their mothers were off doing, they should have their kids beside them, learning to do the 'grown up' chores.

When the boys completed the basket, which took three times as long as it would have taken her, Bri walked them along the tin-can perimeter of camp and told the duo to look for any breaks in the line. The task distracted them while Bri took a few swigs from her flask.

Bri considered how the camp would fare if they set the boys up with Dale's rifle on the night watch. When she laughed out loud at the thought and wouldn’t tell them what tickled her, they ran off to... do whatever little boys do. Probably tattle to Chrissy, who each child looked up to like a big sister or to tell their parents their babysitter was a wacko.

From a distance, Bri saw them duck into the Morales' tent, where Chrissy and the girls were reading. Chrissy had a better way with them than her anyway, so Bri went to go sleep in her tent until dinner was ready. _Migraines_ , is what she told Carol when the thin woman worriedly questioned if Bri was well. If Carol was suspicious, she said nothing.

The women soon realized Bri had no intention of keeping an eye on the kids, and in their heated discussions, Lori pawned the issue off on Shane.

Bri stayed sober for twenty-four hours before Shane came knocking. The hours when she wasn't asleep, passed out to keep herself from crying, were spent staring into the two empty bottles she kept wrapped in the satchel. Hell, she'd filled each bottle with water already, hoping any remnants along the bottles' edges might help her get through the withdrawal. In her state of anguish, she forgot all about the orange bottle of painkillers stashed somewhere deep in her backpack; Glenn reminded her at one point, when he pitifully offered two Advil and a cheese sandwich.

She took them and tried to pass out, and when sleep would not come, she added a small white circles to the mix. Her head stopped hammering as she lay on her back, staring through the little rips in the tent, watching clouds drift by and the sky change colors.

Bri stopped showing for night watch by the end of the week, and her absence became the catalyst which sent Shane over. She pretended to be asleep as he unzipped the flap, and sat beside her. Shane was kinder than Chrissy, and instead of kicking her shins, he rubbed her shoulder to coax her awake. He seemed to be in a good mood from his light touch and low whisper, which asked if they could talk. She yawned and turned towards him.

"You're a shit fake-sleeper."

Bri feigned another yawn and scowl, before giving a soft chuckle. "What's up?"

"You didn't show up for watch, had'ta get Ed to take it."

"Don't feel well."

Shane sighed. "Gotta tell us that. S'like showin' for work, gotta call in sick."

"Never had a real job."

He laughed. "Got one, now. Got lot's'a real jobs, now. Bein' sick is different than, what'd you say, _shirkin'_ responsibility?"

Bri lied when she said those words, knew it the second she said them. It had been a week since she considered getting out of camp, a day since she had a drink to repress thoughts of escaping. "Y'want me to leave?" She asked, though she knew he wouldn't agree to it.

"I want you to do your chores. Want you to show up when we ask you to. Nobody's leavin'."

Bri backpedaled. "I mean, you want me goin' out with Glenn? Bet I'd be a big help."

Shane looked right through her. He knew what she meant the first time. The way he cocked his head indicated for her to sit up, look him dead in the eyes, to have an adult conversation. She had no plans to do such a thing, and settled on tucking her blanket over her shoulder. He didn't lash out, but his jaw set; the intentions of her actions carrying out full effect.

"Y'don't think I don't know what you'd be searchin' for?"

Bri hummed and nestled her head into her pillow. Passive aggression. Avoidance. Benny's biggest pet peeves, and now-a-days, it was all she knew how to do. _Damn it_.

"I'll go huntin', then. Merle likes me well enough."

"Merle Dixon only thinks'a you one way, don't go kiddin' yourself 'bout that."

Bri sat up. "I’ll make him a _promise_ ," she tilted her head, letting her words linger, "he'll let me tag alone."

Shane scoffed. "Y'gon' keep to that promise?"

"You care?"

Shane's cryptic pause volunteered nothing, but Bri had opened the door to questions she wasn't answering either.

Bri veered back to his intervention's original intent so they could get this over with. "Can't be watchin' those kids, man. Demon children. I'll do whatever else--"

"Nah, don't work like that."

"Andrea literally swapped with me. Someone else can swap for babysitting duty, or shit, better yet, have the moms watch their own damn kids. Chrissy's got better shit to do, too, but you got her runnin' 'round wranglin' kids with no home training."

"I just thought you were on board."

"You don't know shit about what I am." Bri felt like an idiot for saying it.

"Would ya ever let me ask?"

 _No, I wouldn't_. Instead of ignoring him, she met his eyes. When he first sat, she could see the cool browns lit through the thin rips in the tarp, but now the sun was too low and the moon was not high enough, and they sat in darkness, in silence.

Bri let the question simmer. Shane was not unattractive, and by taking night watch off of his hands, she gave him the opportunity to sleep a bit more, judging by how the dark circles had shrunk over the past week. She considered making a pass at him. Whatever sneaking around he did with Lori got the woman special treatment and Bri wanted a crumb; not even special treatment, just the opportunity to be left alone to do her thing, maybe to go find a bar somewhere and swim in wine without Glenn and Amy and the Boxcar Children pissing down her back. And in the best case scenario, Lori would find out and get furious and insist Bri never come near her child again, and the mothers would all agree Bri was a piece of shit they couldn't trust and such a revelation would be fine by her.

Shane did not seem to appreciate how she began to laugh. She was funny to herself, a real comedian, and no one ever thought she was as funny as she knew she was.

"What's so funny?" Shane's tone turned dark.

Bri giggled. No, she wasn't laughing at him. "No disrespect, I'm just... thinkin'a things."

He went quiet, searching for how to go forward, before he asked, "Are you drunk now?"

She huffed. "Fuckin' wish I was."

He had little else to say. He wasn't going to beg her to show up, but he also wasn't going to kick her out if she didn't. They were at a stalemate, with nothing resolved once he bade her goodnight, with a hand on her shoulder she didn't flinch away from.

* * *

Bri was worse sober than she was drunk.

Over lunch, Chrissy caved and asked Glenn if he would bring a bottle of something back from his next run.

"I'm not sure it that's a good idea--"

Chrissy wondered if the puppy dog eyes Cory did so well would work for her. " _Please_ , I know she'll feel way better with it."

Glenn shook his head. "Chris, I don't think that's a good thing. I actually think," he lowered his voice, "I think Bri might have a drinking problem."

She bit the inside of her cheek, begging herself to keep in a laugh which threatened to spill out. _No shit, she has a drinking problem, but you can't see it from up her ass, can you?_ "Yeah, maybe. But I'm kind of concerned that she can't function without a little." _God, I'm a great liar_.

Glenn nodded in understanding. Maybe she had broken through. "I'll see what I can do for her."

When he left, Chrissy nearly danced. Nearly, if not for the Dixon brothers eavesdropping close by, with several snide comments about Bri's obvious problems.

Chatting with Lori and Miranda while the younger kids did homework was almost pleasant, with Bri hiding in a hole somewhere. Bri's doleful presence gave the mothers the excuse to do laundry by the lake, where Chrissy was certain they spent the time talking shit, but she couldn't blame them. When Bri showed her face, it was to complain about the hellspawn. The sobriety and a general dislike for children clouded Bri's reality. She liked to make things more dramatic than they were. All Chrissy had to do was sit back and remind the kids of their multiples of seven. Seven. No fuss until Bri came around, but whatever, because she hadn't shown up for days.

Shane came around in the afternoon with questions about Bri. He struggled to figure her out, and Chrissy's one-word responses were unhelpful. Instead of explaining his feelings to Chrissy, he asked if the younger girl would join T-Dog on evening watch, so Shane could take the night shift instead of Bri. Apparently, T-Dog got bored and typically took the morning shift, where he could talk to Dale and other passersby. Evening was too busy, as everyone rushed to prepare dinner and wrap up chores while the sun set. Chrissy said she would sit with him, but underestimated how annoyed she would be.

When T-Dog's questions about school, family, and past-times went as unanswered as Shane's questions about Bri, he tried a different approach. "Guess you'll wanna ask me something now, huh?"

Chrissy turned to beg him to stop trying to be friendly, but his expectant stare held a quiet amusement. She held in a huff. Then she realized T-Dog was trying. Even if it came from a natural restlessness and a dislike for stillness, his attempt at conversation was so much more than the directives and dismissives of the other adults.

"Not really." Chrissy said, and he seemed to give up. She shrugged. Meeting him halfway wouldn't hurt. "Um... ask me another question."

T-Dog laughed, refueled. "Alright. Uhhh... I'm glad the world waited until _Lost_ ended to fall apart-- you know much survival stuff?"

Her parents hadn't had time to teach them before the world ended, and they didn't last long enough after. She shook her head.

"Well, it amped me up enough that I learned how to start a fire and use power tools." Chrissy cocked a brow. "Yeah, didn't exactly have the forethought that maybe having to survive meant no power. But I got the basics."

Chrissy wondered if he was offering to teach her, which she would accept if it was, but didn't want to jump the gun.

"Maybe Glenn'll find a book on it? I mean I bet the Surplus, Academy, like, those will be wiped, but no one would've thought to grab the manuals." Chrissy waved her hands. "And we've got plenty of time to read."

T-Dog nodded. "Might need to send more people in, though. Camping, survival store, we'd want to pick through it. More than Glenn could do alone."

"I'll go with him." Chrissy shrugged off T's look of worry. "Got us out of the city when Bri froze up. I could do it again."

"She froze up?"

"Panic attack maybe?" Or alcohol withdrawal. Bri left the children alone so quickly, rushing to find the secluded dressing rooms. _The latter, for sure_. "We have a pretty detailed map. I think she gave it to Glenn? He'll be able to mark it up with the big no-no zones, the areas where the walkers are all herding up."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll tell him about it over dinner."

Chrissy felt momentarily cast aside. Would it really sound so dumb coming from her own mouth? There it was again-- if Bri offered to go back into the city, Chrissy just knew everyone would be fawning over how brave and amazing she was. By offering, Chrissy was trying to prove herself, and maybe T-Dog was as bad as the rest, relegating her to the kid stuff.

He seemed to sense her hurt. "I'll tell him you wanna go. If Bri thinks you can handle yourself, I don't see a reason why you shouldn't get to go."

There were plenty of reasons, ones Chrissy churned through in her head during the past week of baking in the summer sun. Her thoughts and the heat clung thick against her forehead and floated around her head like a cape of disease. She suffocated in it. The weather. The doubt.

No one here saw her as anything but some kid trying to be a grownup, but maybe T-Dog's input would bolster public opinion. He was friendly with Glenn and Shane. He could assure them she'd be fine.

"I'll ask Bri." Chrissy agreed, she was sure the older girl wouldn't care. Cory might be a bigger issue.

They sat in fleeting silence, which from Chrissy's end was well-appreciated, but she didn't expect him to read her mind when when T-Dog spoke again. "Your brother will be okay with you leaving?"

Chrissy didn't know. Through the past week, he stayed within view of her or Bri, but was never clingy. Cory often sat with either Dale or Jacqui because they gave him extra chores, so he could use the excuse of helping them whenever the kids, Carl specifically, bugged him about coming to play. The only times the siblings talked now-a-days was over meals or while winding down for bed.

But she didn't know how he'd react to her leaving camp. Would he feel she was abandoning him like their parents? Did he trust Glenn to keep his sister safe? If Chrissy broached the subject, would he even bat an eye at the idea of scavenging in the city?

"Don't know."

"He's so quiet. I tried to play catch with him the other day, but as soon as Carl came over, Cory found Miranda and started helping fold laundry. Didn't want nothin' to do with the kids."

Chrissy was sure she understood why he refused to participate. It was trauma, right? Things were fucked up, and it was clearly specific to the pair of them, because the other kids were unphased by the end of the world. Recess all day, every day, was the way Sophia described it.

"He likes math and science. Never played games anyway." Chrissy hoped T didn't feel too bad about Cory's rejection. She prayed her brother would become the whizkid he used to be; until then, she would give him whatever space he needed.

"So he'd like it if you brought back some how-to books?"

Chrissy mulled it over. "Actually, yeah." She smiled to T-Dog. "Yeah, I think he'd really enjoy that. Make him feel useful. I think that's what he needs."

* * *

"Knock knock, Miss Thang." Bri stirred at the gruff voice, and the jostling of her legs.

Merle Dixon was hunched halfway into Glenn's tent, kicking her awake. Occupying his hands was a crate of clinking bottles, jingling as he moved.

"The fuck do you want?" Bri rubbed at her itching eyes. 

A jovial Merle, rather than the brusque asshole he had been a few days earlier when they had last spoken, waited with uncharacteristic patience as she pulled herself to a sitting position. "Outta be kinder to your benefactor, darlin'." He set the crate in her lap, the sudden weight of it eliciting a groan.

Bri looked down, and her eyes widened. She lurched into full awareness. Like in the gas station when she found the last bottle of wine, the heavens sent down sunbeams through the open tent flap, spotlighting the shining beacons of all the good things remaining in the world.

Ten bottles with their labels proclaiming pure, Russian vodka. There obviously used to be a dozen, by the way the bottles lined up, though the seals were unbroken, so the bottles hadn't been tampered with or watered down. This was weeks of comfort, just resting there in front of her. Bri beamed at the sight, without considering her company. Her pervading thought was _Holy shit_.

She might have pinched herself, had Merle not spoken first, "Yeah, that's what I thought." His interrupting voice inspired confusion, then doubt, then a sigh.

"What's this for?"

Merle held his hands in feign shock. "Peace treaty, girl. Heard you were in a bind. Wanted to make sure we understand each other."

No, she did not understand, and confusion overtook her features. Merle tried to explain.

"I'm buying your discretion, Brittany--"

"Brigid--"

Merle waved her off. "Scratching on your back, so when I need it... you'll be around to scratch mine. It’s collateral."

Bri was certain the word _collateral_ was not what he meant, but she nodded regardless and repeated, incredulously, "Buying my discretion."

"There ya go, you geddit."

Bri's eyes were lit with skepticism and humor. "Okay." She tacked on gratitude. "...Thank you."

"Thattagirl."

He left with a wink. The feeling that the encounter was only a fever dream slowly melted away. Light still streamed in, catching on clear liquid and sparkling along the dark fabric of the tent. The bottles' weight on her lap assured her everything was real.

Bri stared at the crate. She laughed. "What the fuck?"

She had no clue how to unpack the situation, or how to read Merle's actions. He was considerably less creepy than he had been, and had approached her like a friend. Like one might treat a casual drinking buddy. If Bri held on to the crate, she would owe him something, she knew it, but was at a loss for knowing what. She didn't know either brother well enough to trust them, but this was a hell of an olive branch. Maybe Daryl _was_ a drunk, and this was Merle's way of playing a trick. Or, in a more simple conjecture, the brothers needed one person in camp who didn't hate them, and Merle saw Bri's habits as a way in.

Hell, at least now she wouldn't have to worry about where her next drink would come from.

Bri decided not to overthink the gesture; the Dixons were a familiarly simple people. She doubted any plan they had was so complex she wouldn't be able to fumble her way out of it.

The vision of a stash so large made her giddy. She cracked open a bottle, and hid the metal crate under precariously draped blankets. Liquid fell over her like a veil.

_Well, this could be a whole lotta trouble, whole lotta trouble, whole lotta trouble for you._

* * *

Chrissy lay awake and watched over Cory's sleeping figure, making sure he stayed peaceful and sound.

Bri roused around midnight. Chrissy could only hear the little movements, as her nose nestled into her brother's mop of hair, facing away from the older girl; she heard the clinking, louder and from more than the typical sources of the bottle and the cup. When Bri left and stayed gone, Chrissy rolled over and dug through the mess of Bri's sleeping bag. Hidden poorly beneath a blanket was a crate of vodka, something Bri must have pulled out of her ass in the last 24 hours. Only one bottle was opened, a quarter empty.

Chrissy had little faith in Bri, but she once held a penny's worth of hope in the idea the girl would shape up. The rest of the camp continuously referred to her as Chrissy and Cory's guardian, and somewhere in Chrissy's chest was a prayer Bri would magically turn into the woman they assumed she was.

But fuck her.

How the fuck did Bri get a pallet of alcohol into the hills? Glenn hadn't had time to go on a run, and he couldn't be so under her thumb that he'd make such a grand gesture, right? He thought she had a problem anyway. Who had she stolen it from? She wasn't on watch right now, Shane removed that privilege. Was she pilfering through the belongings of sleeping survivors?

In the morning, after spending the night pontificating over ways to freeze Bri out for good, any grandiose plan was ruined by the sight of the three college-aged campers chatting and cackling around a small fire. Bri sipped out of her thermos and smiled, grinning almost menacingly at Glenn and Amy.

Chrissy kept her distance, steered Cory away as he waved to Bri. Chrissy sent ice in her stare. But Bri only laughed again, muttering something which made her new friends laugh with her. The siblings took their breakfast from Carol, and sat in a circle with the other children.

The morning's meal was less luxurious than squirrel. Rice and beans with heavy seasoning from Dale's spice cabinet. Chrissy's teeth ground together when the kids complained. Their parents were worse, too, because instead of telling them to shut the fuck up and eat, they soothed them and promised things would be better soon.

Chrissy glared at the laughing teens, who were soon joined by T-Dog. What did they have to laugh about? What in this situation could be making them so happy?

The anger simmered all day. Her gut remained on fire as she sat with the girls and braided their hair. The flames licked her veins when she realized once again, Bri would not be leaving her tent to attend kid-duty. Chrissy was furious in a way which made her silent. Fury charred her voice box, from an origin she could not pinpoint.

After dinner, Bri already lay in the tent with labored breath, examining the ragged stitching of Glenn’s tent. Chrissy would have turned and stomped out of sight, but Bri stopped her.

The older girl's voice crackled out a mangled, broken, "Hey." Bri sat up and looked Chrissy dead on. Her eyes were their usual flaring red, swimming with melancholia, and this time Chrissy noticed popped spider-veins spread across the apples of her cheeks and corners of her nose. She was plastered and upset, looking rougher than Chrissy had seen her before. "Shane took me off watch for good. Said all this shit about me doing my chores, then took away the only thing I cared about. Fuckin' asshole."

Chrissy didn't entertain the possibility of Shane's decision to permanently ban Bri being somehow her fault. She readied a quip aimed towards the fact Bri stopped showing up for chores days ago, and a punishment was bound to pop up somewhere.

But Bri's lip twitched and her hand reached towards it, as if the pressure of her fingertips would stop the dam of emotions. Bri's voice was so soft, so restrained in comparison to her usually careless speech. "They don't know how bad it is. They don't believe it." Her head hung to the side, staring away from Chrissy and she stifled a sob on the back of her hand. When she pulled it away, there were teethmarks in the pale flesh. She sat up, rummaging through the covers for her bottle.

The honesty pierced deep in Chrissy's gut, a chill which shattered the fury she had pent up. Bri wasn't truly upset at the loss of the night watch, but the blow must have tipped over the scales.

Bri continued speaking and searching with shaking hands. "They want to wait for help, they think something can be done," her voice cracked. "They don't feel it--"

Instincts took over and Chrissy kneeled, and clasped her hands around Bri's shoulders. The movement stopped both of them still.

It was something Chrissy's mother would do. She was a scary woman, a lawyer, a cold, no-nonsense bitch. She would shake Chrissy's shoulders and stare her down until there was a mutual understanding, until both parties calmed.

But Bri didn't know about the understanding and she flinched backwards out of Chrissy's grip.

Chrissy understood.

What were they laughing at? Nothing. Bri wasn't smiling around the campfire, she was grimacing. She was laughing so she wouldn't cry. Chrissy didn't have to like her to see how broken up Bri was inside.

The people in this camp were escaping from the mess when the city fell. They were all together.

The night it all ended, Cory and Chrissy were locked inside their home with two bitten parents, trying to find the will to put them down like Mom and Dad showed them. Bri was probably drunk somewhere, staring absently, drawn in by the fire; and she was alone, making things up as she went. Chrissy pitied her. No one deserved to be alone in such confusion, not even an idiot like her.

 _They don't feel it_. Chrissy did. The survivors in the camp were holding out for maybes, but Bri felt she knew something they didn't; something only she and Chrissy could, from their respective experiences on the road outside Atlanta. Something shifted in the world, but no one else saw it.

The dry, throaty sobs turned into a vicious laughter, mocking; Bri's emotional honesty tipped past sharing her concerns. She fell into a state like delirium. "What the fuck is going on? What?" Chrissy said nothing as the older girl leaned to her backpack.

She threw out her clean clothes, dirty clothes, spare change, blankets, and her Georgia State sweatshirt. Her toiletries, her handguns, cans of soup she never gave to Dale. She found what she was looking for at the bottom.

Three photo albums.

Bri began by ripping out the pages individually, but it devolved quickly into fistfuls of paper and glue and sparkling trim from the too-expensive craft stores. She murmured a name, swearing at them, cursing over them. She tore the pages in half, and again where she could. Maybe a quarter through the first one, she stopped herself with a sob. Threw the album across the tent, not at Chrissy, but to her. The cover at Chrissy's feet read _Benny & Brigid '04! _

"Bri..." Chrissy tried to start, but Bri threw another album her way, then the last. Bri wanted her to see them but could say nothing of them.

"What the fuck?" Bri whimpered out. It was almost a real question. Genuine. She needed to be walked through something Chrissy was woefully unprepared to deal with. Her cheeks were hollowed in the thin strips of moonlight that peeked through the tent, and her eyes were brimming with tears. Chrissy's gut churned. She felt the pull of fight or flight, and the urge to question and investigate, and she had no clue what Bri needed from her. Bri's hands shook as she grasped at something that wasn't there, trying to decide something.

Bri opened the satchel beside her pillow. Chrissy could only stare, huddled in the corner out of the line of fire.

*****

From within, she pulled two empty bottles and lifted one above her head to smash it on the floor, ripping up the threadbare tarp beneath them. When the first was obliterated into pieces, she gripped the other, a more durable bottle and brought it down repeatedly, grunting as if vocalization would add to her strength. The bottle burst into thick shards, but Bri held tight to the bottleneck, still intact. With a hand on the ground to steady herself, she slammed the neck down to chip away at the last of the glass. She focused on nothing, and when the the cracked cylinder lodged into her left hand, pain overtook her in wordless waves. To catch her weight, she placed her right hand beside it, groaning when the shards broke the skin.

Bri punched into the ground, slammed her fists at the pile of glass. With open palms she picked up shards in that way a baby grabs and clamps down on toys, like she had a change of heart and now needed to clean her space. She sobbed and choked down the noise, turning the pain into a growl. Glass thrown over to Chrissy’s side of the tent, mingling with all of their belongings, became more hazardous as Bri moved around on hands and knees like a caged animal. Blood streaked across the gathering of glass and the sleeping bag and all the items strewn there. The handfuls she took were lazy, with so much glass embedded she couldn't even make a fist. Her hands appeared to be cleansed in glitter, the way microscopic pieces pricked her skin and made a home there.

The simmering metallic smell of fresh blood pervaded the air, encouraging Chrissy to do something. She stood, but her sudden movement tore Bri's attention from the glass to her. Bri's fist hauled back and tossed shards in her direction with a cry.

Chrissy shielded her face with crossed arms. "Bri!"

The shriek of her name stilled her. It brought her back from wherever. Through her nose, Bri let out broken huffs of air. Her jaw stayed clamped.

By the tent flap was a pile of clean clothes. Chrissy took a tee from the top, not stopping to notice it was one of Cory's sleep shirts.

Chrissy's eyes stung. Bri cradled her hands to her stomach, and her eyes picked a spot on the top of the tent. She croaked out something which was either an apology or a prayer.

Bri was a wounded animal, a sick, flea-ridden cat in a shelter. The one everyone knows would be better put out of their misery.

Chrissy's own voice was unfamiliar, aged, as she tried to piece together what happened. "What the fuck." She repeated Bri's mantra.

Was Chrissy scared of her? She wanted to be, should have been, but she remembered Uncle B's last years in the family. If someone had helped him, been there, done something other than talk shit, things that happened might not have happened.

She coaxed Bri into sitting straight, so her weight was no longer on her hands. Chrissy realized Bri was not crying or praying, but holding her head back to stifle tears and small whimpers. _Best to ignore it,_ she thought, _and save her some dignity._

She didn't know how to approach the injuries. "Don't move them." Bri's lip twisted and she bit it again to stop the tears. The tremors were involuntary, and Bri lacked the energy to will them away. Chrissy pulled the hands towards herself, palms up to assess the damage.

All Chrissy could think of was the disastrous birthday cake her mom made for her dad one year. He loved hiking and couldn't stop talking about this preserve in Arizona, with the red rock formations. So, her mom made a cake. Red velvet and different candy bars covered by fondant to create the landscape. A decent idea, executed so poorly that her dad did not know what it was supposed to be. Just red velvet and chocolate mush.

At the sight of them, Chrissy's own tears fell. Bri's hands were what would have happened if Chrissy's mom had added candy rock crystals to the icing. The shards were in deep, like Bri had wanted to insure the impact would be the most severe. Around the pieces were a mush of blood and broken skin. If Chrissy removed the glass, the wounds would worsen, right? With how Bri shook, Chrissy was sure she would accidentally nick an artery or something, though with the amount of bleeding, she was sure Bri already did.

Blood dripped into Chrissy's lap, staining her knee caps with crimson. If she wrapped the shirt too tight, the glass would go in deeper, but just draping it over Bri's hands would do nothing.

Chrissy couldn't leave her there. This was a cry for help, it had to be, and Chrissy wasn't qualified. They watched videos in middle school on how alcohol and drugs cause erratic behavior. And when Uncle B drove his truck into the creek, killing his own daughters, Chrissy's idea of addiction turned into a figure of black dust which looked an awful lot like him. Chrissy once believed that someone who drinks this much was asking for bad shit to happen, for the shadowy figure to come around and meddle. But maybe Bri was begging for it to stop. If Chrissy stared hard enough, she could see it placing a hand on Bri's shoulder.

"We have to go to Shane." Chrissy's voice was so small, she wasn't sure Bri could hear. Whether to treat the injury, or to place her on a 24-hour watch over her, or both, and Bri knew all the ways Chrissy meant.

In Bri's dark blue eyes were handfuls of glass, threatening to be thrown again, her only defense with her hands out of commission. "No."

"Your hands are fucked." It was the only way to describe them. "The glass is really deep." Chrissy sniffed and gingerly set the shirt over Bri's clawed hands. Bri kept trying to curl her hands into fists, then would gasp at how the glass cut in more with every movement. Before, Chrissy had never noticed how badly and consistently Bri's hands shook. Now she knew it was non-stop, whether Bri drank or not. Fabric snagged on the long, cylindrical neck of the bottle, which Chrissy was too scared to remove.

*****

By covering Bri's hands, Chrissy was preserving the sliver of remaining dignity. And she didn't resent it. She felt fucking terrible, and she didn't know what she could do for her.

A sob escaped from Bri as she stood. Her socked feet stepped through the glass and clutter in small, uneven steps.

Chrissy guided Bri by her arm like she used to with the elderly church ladies. Bri wasn't present as Chrissy lead her towards the RV. Chrissy existed as every one of Bri's five senses. 

Shane patrolled the camp and made sure everyone kept their fires low. Glenn asked around for what to add to his supply list. Shane stood from speaking to the Morales family. He had a half-smile on his face, laughing as he said good night. At the sight of Bri huddled against Chrissy's side, the smile fell.

"Bri?"

Bri looked at something on the skyline. Her eyes found spot or a star.

Chrissy angled herself in front of Bri, unsure of how Shane would react to the accident, which is how she would frame it. "You can't be mad."

"What--" Shane approached with worry and raised hands.

Chrissy shielded Bri, and pushed her towards the RV. "We just need a first aid kit."

Seeing how neither would budge with more information, he led them to the RV and knocked. "Dale, you still got that med kit?"

"Is everything okay? Dale's still eating." Amy spoke as she and Glenn came near, taking in the tracks of blood on Chrissy's shorts and Bri's shirt. "Bri?"

Amy's fingertips on her bare shoulder scared Bri into focus. Bri struggled to find words. She shifted once to look away from Amy, then again to avoid Shane. She ended with her back to both, staring beyond Chrissy.

Bri's avoidance was enough for Shane to spring into action. The motor home rocked as he snapped open the door and climbed inside, abandoning any care for Dale's privacy. His footfalls on the linoleum were audible from outside, along with the slamming and snapping of cabinet hinges.

"She's good." Chrissy tried to meet Bri's eyes, but Bri blinked away tears, still trying to look at something invisible. Amy moved to grab Bri's shoulder again. Chrissy snapped through her own tears. "Give her some space."

Glenn led Bri by her shoulders to the RV, effectively separating her from Chrissy. And Chrissy felt her heart clench.

Chrissy and Amy entered, while Glenn eased Bri into the booth. Shane shuffled through cabinets, which overflowed with useless things hiding the box they needed.

"There's one here, I swear." Glenn ran his fingers over Bri's hair with the intention of soothing her, but Chrissy worried she was overwhelmed by the constant action around her.

"Andrea might have one." Amy offered through sniffles. "What's wrong, Bri?" Glenn carefully revealed the damage. Amy gagged. "Oh God."

"Go get it, Amy." Shane pointed to the door. "Chris, go on, we're good."

Ten minutes ago, Chrissy didn't want to look at Bri. But now she couldn't make herself leave. She pressed past Glenn, who continued to search, and slipped into the booth across from Bri, out of the way, but present, and Shane didn't argue. He seemed too focused on Bri to fight.

Shane set a roll of paper towels on the table, and Chrissy ripped off a long stretch of it, and folded up medium-sized squares to be used as compresses. Cory's shirt was halfway soaked and abandoned to the floor. Shane filled a bowl with water and set out soap from the bathroom.

Chrissy cleaned blood from Bri's wrists and fingertips, the most unaffected areas. Nothing could be done without medical tools. Was the glass was deep enough to cause long-term damage?

Bri remained silent. Chrissy wanted to read into everything Bri did. Every twitch of her lip. The thousand mile stare above Chrissy's head. She wanted to ask, _What do you see?_ But whatever Bri saw was enough to spook her out of being in pain. Maybe it was Uncle B and the black shadows. Maybe it was better to leave her wherever she was, than to urge her back to the world of living and make her feel the pain.

Glenn found a half-empty kit with band aids, tweezers, and ointment. Amy soon returned with Andrea and a slightly better stocked kit. Bri sat bleeding out over Dale's kitchen table. Too many people stood around staring, waiting for someone to jump up and play hero.

Shane elected himself and had everyone clear out. He looked to Chrissy expectantly and sighed when she wouldn't move. "Christine, I can't work if you'll be breathin' down my back."

She thought she could avoid this. "Then I won't breathe." She snapped. A half-garbled snort came from Bri. The reaction gave Chrissy a sliver of hope.

"Go check on your brother." Chrissy felt Shane's hand grip her shoulder, encouragement to go on and get out. "I gotta talk to Bri."

Chrissy wanted to check with Bri once more, but Bri was checked out, looking at a smudge of dirt on the table.

She didn't want to leave without saying anything, but nothing came to mind. A crowd gathered outside the RV door, and Chrissy nearly smacked Amy as she exited.

"Is she alright?" Amy cried beside Glenn, whose hand resided on her shoulder to keep her grounded.

The anger of the day boiled up again, mixing with the terror of what Chrissy had just witnessed Bri do. Chrissy deserved to be bawling her eyes out, not Amy, but through small tracks of tears, she kept her composure. "I don't think that's anyone's business."

Andrea recognized the need for privacy, and waved the crowd away. But she wanted answers, too. "What happened?"

Chrissy didn't know where Andrea and Bri stood, and frankly, Chrissy didn't care. "There was an accident and Shane's taking care of it." Her speech was clipped.

"What kind of accident? Not walkers?" Andrea brought her hand to Chrissy's arm. "Are you alright?"

Chrissy shrugged from her grip, defensive, and mumbled a lie. "No, I'm fine. She was goin' through her stuff and realized there was a broken bottle."

She waved away Andrea's concern, and watched her give the news to Lori, who wondered where Shane had gone, and to Jacqui, who had kept tabs on Cory during dinner. At the sight of Chrissy, Jacqui bade him good night and nudged him along.

"Can he stay with you?" Chrissy whispered. She tried to explain further, but no words could accurately paint a picture of what she meant to say. She fumbled for something besides Bri’s name and a portrait of a mess. Jacqui steered Cory to her set-up, but her eyes assured Chrissy that she would be asking questions later.

"What all's goin' on out here?" Daryl's voice was low and curious. Chrissy hadn't heard footsteps, but nothing much could jolt her now. "Noisy as hell."

She sniffled. "Bri got hurt. Broke a bottle."

"Someone playin' doctor?"

"Shane said he'd get the glass out."

Daryl paused, considering something. "Been in plenty of bar fights."

Chrissy knit her brows, confused at his statement. "Shane, the police officer?"

"Nah, me'n Merle. Been in plenty."

It was more than Chrissy had ever heard him say, including when he spoke to his brother. She clarified, "Are you offerin' to help?" Shane would interrogate Bri the entire time, Chrissy figured. She assumed Daryl wouldn't ask too many questions.

Daryl shrugged, but after a moment, began to walk to the RV. 

Shane sat in Bri's booth, focusing on her left hand. He held an arm on either side, one to keep her hands steady, and the other to use the tweezers. Before the door hinge creaked, he spoke softly to Bri, unintelligible from the doorway.

Chrissy and Daryl stepped in. Bri jerked when they entered. The ghost of a smile passed and dissipated, replaced with guilt as she watched them take in the kitchen table. Bloody paper towels and medical waste littered the already cluttered space. On a paper plate before them were bloody shards of glass, the largest first, followed by scattered pieces atop them.

Shane threw a distrustful glare over his shoulder. Daryl had been willing to help, but Chrissy couldn't quite read Shane's look, and it seemed Daryl couldn't either. He was one foot out the door, before Shane spoke. His words were urgent, disguised as something casual. "What's up, man?"

Daryl glanced to where Bri sat bleeding, and shrugged. "I can do stitches."

Shane didn't need further explanation. "Okay. Wash up, then." He passed the pump of hand soap and motioned to the small kitchen sink before returning focus to Bri.

For the first time, Chrissy noticed how disgusting Daryl's hands were. Long nails with years of animal guts and tanned skin from both the elements and uncleanliness. The overflowing sink was hardly the place to clean up, and she nodded towards the bathroom. There she watched him run his hands beneath the water and towel off in seconds.

"If dirt comes off on the towel, you're not clean enough." She hated how her voice broke with such a simple statement. She was unsure of stating something so obvious to a grown man, especially with his brother's nature, but he needed the reminder if he was to perform a minor surgery on her... well, not friend, but stitching up a person with so many injuries required a better prepared surgeon. He turned back to the bathroom. She added. "Sing ' _Happy Birthday_ '."

Bri let slip a pained groan. Shane yelled, "Shit!"

Chrissy broke away from Daryl. An already deep laceration began seeping over the table. Shane scrambled to find a cleanish paper towel to press over the wound. Chrissy wanted to hold her hand.

Bri gazed upwards once more, the muscles of her chin rippling with tension.

"What did you do?" Chrissy demanded.

Shane looked guiltily between the girls. "Must've nicked something. Her hands keep shaking." It sounded like he blamed himself more than her, which almost comforted Chrissy. Shane was judgement-free. He was on Bri's side.

"Lemme see it." Daryl loomed above Shane. The officer relented his space beside Bri, and cleaned off his own hands. Daryl's sat and gripped Bri's arm as Shane had, but at an angle where he was not so pressed against her. Bri huffed out shallow breaths as she acclimated to the new presence and the new way he worked over the glass. Shane tried to stand behind the two, to watch with a hand on Bri's head. Daryl grunted. "Blockin' the light."

Though Chrissy and Shane waited expectantly, Daryl didn't seem to notice their anxiety. He worked swiftly, used to being thrown into precarious situations. If Chrissy lived with a man like Merle, she supposed she would be ready for anything, too.

Vocal stirs from Bri became more frequent. Chrissy knew, though Shane had worsened the situation, whatever he had been telling her had considerably lessened her pain. She couldn't imagine what he could have said.

"So..." Chrissy started, not directed to anyone in particular.

When Daryl realized she was half-speaking to him, he explained. "Glass is all out. Can't sew while this one while it's bleeding, but I can do the others."

Shane sighed with relief, more than Chrissy thought he was entitled to. "Thank you, Dixon. Means a lot."

Daryl murmured something which sounded like _Ain't doin' it for you_.

Shane ignored him and motioned for Chrissy to follow him out. "C'mon, Chris."

She resisted. "I just wanna sit with her." Shane cocked his head.

"C'mon." He repeated. Bri stared off, wincing as Daryl began to stitch. Chrissy followed with a sigh. Shane clicked the door closed behind them. "I've never seen the two of y'all speak without bite, and now you just wanna go sit with her?"

 _Yeah_. Chrissy's gut told her no one else gave a fuck about Bri, and someone needed to. Glenn and Amy didn't count, because they worried, but once they saw the ugly shit like Chrissy had, they wouldn't be so inclined to hang around. It was her mother's words guiding her, reminding her to be a team player. "Someone's got to."

"Go get your brother to bed, I'll keep tabs here."

Cory would be fine with Jacqui for the night, but Bri would need a bed for the night. No one needed to sleep in Glenn's poor tent.

"Shane?"

"Yeah, Chris?"

"She freaked the fuck out," Chrissy felt tears blubbering up and pawed them away. "Shit. I don't know her, Shane. We don't."

Shane nodded. "I know."

Being a bad liar fell at the bottom of Chrissy's list of worries. "I don't really know what happened."

"We'll talk tomorrow, then." He looked torn between interrogating Chrissy and returning to Bri.

Chrissy's eyes burned as she nodded. Neither waved the other goodbye.

With Shane preoccupied, there was no one on watch, so Chrissy climbed the ladder. In seconds of cicadas singing and owls calling, Chrissy understood why T-Dog hated the silence. It made her think, and she didn’t want to think. She saw Uncle B at birthday parties. Uncle B at Christmas. Bri in Glenn's tent. _Whys_ floated in the air among half-formed thoughts, the consideration of who would clean the tent, who would watch over Bri, who would help her if it wasn't Chrissy.

The most intact thought formed was an agreement with herself. If Chrissy began to have nightmares about broken glass, she wouldn't resent Bri for causing them, because unlike the other people who snuck into her sleep and petrified her, Chrissy decided that Bri did not do this on purpose.

Slung over the armrest were Dale's binoculars. Not too useful through her tears, but if she looked long enough, maybe she could see what Bri could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an: this story has already taken a life of its own and evolved into something well past what i originally intended. i feel like this chapter was filler-y at the start and hopefully not too melodramatic, but overall i think it's a pretty essential piece of chrissy's development and how she comes to view bri. by the end of the next chapter, we will be approaching canon events. much love <3
> 
> songs included:  
>  _Whole Lotta Trouble_ by Stevie Nicks


	4. Tutelage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no medical knowledge, literally just my gal google. 
> 
> also when will i myself accept that this story is character driven not plot driven and we WILL get there when we get there!!
> 
> tw for mention of suicide, harm to animals, drug abuse, and Dixon-typical language

Glenn and Morales left for Atlanta the next morning, the supply list forgotten in favor of medical supplies and new tents. The rumor mill did its dirty work, and, with no one forthcoming on any fronts, the accepted explanation for the incident was that Bri tried to kill herself.

No, that's not what happened, but denial was pointless once minds were made, so Bri kept shut. She should have taken a truck a week ago, and now she dealt with the consequences of staying.

Too exhausted to call for Chrissy, Bri slept in Shane's tent the night before, crying herself to sleep before he could ask questions.

In the morning, he was there with breakfast. "Thought this'd be easiest." A pack of beef jerky and a cup with a plastic straw, which made her miss her thermos and her flask and the hidden crate she surely would never see again. "Amy wanted to bring it, but..."

"Don't wanna see nobody. Ain't no one mindin' their own business."

Shane had to hold the cup for her to sip from, but she could lift the jerky between two fingers without strain.

"So, y'don't want attention?"

Bri scoffed. _If I wanted attention, I would've gotten it_.

But, Jesus, after Benny, she knew first-hand how suicide affected the people left behind. Not like she had any bond closer than, say, Amy, in camp, but it was a terrible thing that this was how everyone thought of her now. "I'd rather be left alone."

She was right to assume he wouldn't agree. "No, we gotta figure this out. Deal with it, before--" He cut himself off with his hand.

Bri didn't know if it was _before you kill yourself_ or _before things get worse_ , but either were applicable.

"Glenn'll be back tomorrow with tents. You and Amy get one. Andrea offered to stay with Chris and Cory. You know--"

"Me and Amy." Bri's eyes narrowed.

"If you'd let me--" he motioned to let him continue. Bri sighed. "Chrissy's messed up over this. Sick. _And_ she said she didn't know you."

Bri was surprised the tale survived so long. "They found me in a house. Wasn't gon' leave them."

"Of course you weren't. No one would. But that begs the question, why'd you lie about it?"

"Chrissy said to. Think I'm gonna argue with her?"

He cocked his head, but left it. "I'm on your side." But he didn't trust her, Bri could tell.

"When are these coming off?" Bri held her hands by her face. She wiggled her fingers and didn't hide the resulting wince .

Guilt flashed across his face. "Dixon's no medic. Me neither. We might have messed up."

"I deserve that much, I guess. Whatever." Bri settled back against Shane's pillow.

"No," he placed a hand on her knee, "I'm sayin' when they get back, we'll rewrap 'em, make sure you're good." He paused and dug in his pocket for a pack of pills. "You can take these."

Bri cradled her hands, the pure white wraps and neon band aids stark against her blood-stained tank top.

"You need a change of clothes."

"Y'all clean the tent?"

"Pretty sure that's a biohazard." From a duffel, Shane tossed a plain black t-shirt. When Bri unraveled it, she saw the white and gold crest of the King County Sheriff's Department. He stood. "You got it?"

Bri was honestly not sure, and to cover the embarrassment, she joked, "You tryin' to get me naked?"

"Man, get on with it." He ducked out and she was left to fend for herself.

The shirt was a double XL, too large for Shane even, and she tucked the excess into her black shorts, the color hiding any stains there.

Part of her expected a crowd waiting to yell, scream, and beg her for answers, but aside from quiet murmurs when she exited the tent, it was business as usual.

"Bri?"

Bri turned to see Chrissy approaching from Jacqui's tent. She was bleary-eyed, and had either recently awoken or hadn't gone to sleep. The sight pricked tears behind Bri's eyes. She focused on the cloudless blue expanse above camp and blinked them away.

"Hey." Chrissy left distance between them. She held her arms across her chest, huddled into herself, matching Bri. "Sleep much?"

"Passed out. You?"

"Took watch. Don't think Shane realized no one was on guard."

"Oh." Bri took Chrissy: despite being close to the same height, Chrissy shrunk into herself, making her appear so much younger, and crusted blood stained her knees and chest. Bri was nauseous, knowing the blood was her's.

"I started cleanin' up. Found some tape for those albums."

Bri swallowed. "You look through them?" A sniffle. She wasn't sure which she preferred.

"Yeah." Chrissy admitted, dropping her arms. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry." It rushed from Bri's lips, the sudden wave sending tears forward. She brushed them away with her fingertips. God, her hands itched from both the need for a drink and the scratch of the gauze. Bri wasn't looking to be berated, but she needed it. She also wanted to know what Chrissy thought. About what she saw the night before. Bri didn't know what she was doing. She felt out-of-body until Chrissy brought her back. She didn't know how to ask Chrissy to talk about it. She settled for, "That's my brother."

"You look just alike."

They didn't, not in Bri's eyes, but it was kind of Chrissy to say so, and it made Bri blubber again. "Shit."

Chrissy stepped closer.

Bri wiped her burning eyes. "Shane said it made you sick."

She shook her head and clarified. "Like worried sick."

"For me?" Bri choked up.

"It was really fucked up. What you did."

Bri agreed. "Yeah."

"Um. If you want to talk. Or. I don't know." Bri felt a flutter of hope. "I knew someone like that. Got bad, then worse."

"Am I at worse?"

Chrissy shook her head with conviction. "No. Bad. Could get better, though."

Bri stared silently. _Been coming down for a long time, changes coming down on me_. She needed to talk to someone. And she would shut down with anyone else.

"I think we could talk." Chrissy's faced flushed with relief. Bri's heart tugged. "Not now though."

A rapid nod. "That'd be good." Bri smiled, watery but genuine. Chrissy hesitated, but asked, "Do you need a hug?"

It was so good of her. To ask. Not like Amy flinging herself around Bri, more constricting than comforting. Bri didn't want one, she never preferred hugs, but Chrissy seemed to be asking for her own benefit, so Bri nodded.

The younger girl snaked her arms around Bri's waist. Chrissy wasn't as thin as Amy, and Bri leaned into the hug, appreciating how needed she felt. Chrissy's head fit right into Bri's collarbone. Tears prickled in her eyes, and rather than staring upwards, willing them away, Bri laid her cheek atop Chrissy's curly head, letting them fall.

 _Benny'd like this better than me being alone,_ she would have to keep reminding herself.

They gave the tent a few days, so the blood could dry.

Shane, Andrea, and T-Dog took care of itt. Andrea filled buckets with the glass-covered, blood-stained clothing, despite her aversion to stereotypical women's work, to personally clean at the new laundry station by the lake. Shane and T-Dog took inventory of Bri's belongings, taking her hatchet and her guns for safe-keeping. They ripped the sleeping bag into strips for kindling.

Shane reported the tent ranked in the worst crime scenes he ever witnessed. He said it under his breath to Chrissy, while presenting her and her brother's unscathed items, but the tarp of Bri and Amy’s new tent was only so thick, and Bri heard every word, cementing the guilt which was already lodged deep in her bones.

* * *

Cory liked Jim, because he was the first person not to ask any questions.

Glenn and Morales rescued Jim from the pharmacy they looted in the city. He gave the camp a small wave on arrival, and in a soft Southern twang said nothing more personal than that his was a mechanic; Dale jumped at the opportunity to expand his knowledge on the subject, and invited Cory to join them in fixing his radiator hose.

"Kiddo, you absorb information like a sponge." Dale snapped to demonstrate the speed at which Cory picked up things. Now Dale knew he wasn't useless like the other kids, and Cory hoped the other adults would realize soon, too.

When finished on the RV, Jim became a hot commodity: everyone suddenly needed their oil changed or a weird sound in the engine checked out.

"I could be like your apprentice." Cory'd asked after two or three days, with all of the false confidence of his older sister.

Jim did not bat an eye, extending a wrench as a welcome. "Sure could."

More than one person said he was the replacement child, making up for a son Jim had lost. Cory didn't see it. Jim wasn't doting, like Cory's own father, or domineering and sarcastic like Cory's mother. He was just simple. He didn't ask questions of Cory. Even when he needed a tool, he would point or describe it, but never ask. Cory wasn't sure of the method behind this, but no questions meant their talk was minimal, which they both found comfort in.

The job helped to avoid the worksheets Carl's mom liked to pass out, the random math problems and homemade word searches copied across notebook paper. Eliza and Louis had the most trouble with their assignments, and would beg Cory nonstop for help. At some point, he started playing dumb, and saying he was to young to know things like this, despite his seniority to both of the Morales children. This course of action made them less inclined to ask him to play, because he was _mean_ , which was fine with him, but it also endeared him to Andrea, with whom he and Chrissy shared their new tent.

"You're a smart kid, Cory. It's good to make yourself useful." Andrea said, one night, sitting between him and Amy, and across the fire from Bri, Chrissy, and Dale. The words sounded backhanded, and Cory didn't miss Dale's disapproving look. "What?"

Bri shrunk into herself, running her fingers along the edge of the brace Glenn and Dale fotmed around her messed up hand. Her thermos was tucked beside her foot, and Cory wondered if it had water in it, or something else. The group around the fire fell silent, an awkward admission of their, and the camp at large's, feelings about Bri.

Chrissy had gone from hating her guts, to placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort from comments of Andrea and the mothers. Dale and Jacqui had opinions, too, which they shared in private, but not so softly Cory couldn't hear. Chrissy said it was grown up business, but she wasn't a grown up either. Once Dale and Amy turned in to their respective beds, Andrea and Chrissy left for watch duty, leaving Bri and Cory alone at the dwindling fire.

The white bandages which were wound tight around Bri's left hand had been removed in the morning, and some of the little band aids beneath were replaced, while other, smaller nicks remained uncovered and allowed to breathe. Cory knew there'd been a broken bottle, but words like _suicide attempt_ and _cry for help_ had been thrown around in questions and rumors he would like to try to dispel, if Bri would tell him the truth. Which, due to Chrissy's assurance it was all grown up business, he wasn't sure she would. Bri took the thermos in her free hand. The sigh of relief after sipping confirmed it was not water.

Kicking some dirt on the remnants of the fire, he stood and slid into the blue canvas lawn chair where Chrissy once sat.

He wanted to ask if she was feeling better, but he didn't like questions, and from their small talk, he knew Bri didn't either. Cory settled for. "You look better."

"Than?"

Cory turned his head. "Than what?"

"Exactly," she murmured into her cup, "I look better than... what?"

"Oh." He wondered how he should refer to it. "Than that night."

Bri sucked in a breath, coughing as her drink went down the wrong pipe. On instinct, he patted her back, not doing much to help, but the gesture always seemed nice to him.

"I mean." She seemed at a loss. "Shane and Daryl cleaned up the blood, so... And your sister, too."

"No, I mean," The words didn't come easy, "you don't look as sad."

Bri laughed, reminiscent of his mother's sarcastic, _Oh, you've done it now_ type of laughs. As he sat up in the chair to find another way to describe what he meant, so she wouldn't be mad at him, she said, "I'm still sad."

"Oh."

"But I was angry. I think. That's why I freaked out. On Chrissy. I'm sorry and she knows that."

Cory's eyes widened at the revelation. "You freaked out on Chrissy?"

There was only moonlight to gauge her reaction, which wasn't much use. Bri slouched in the chair, avoiding his question, so he thought she might be embarrassed or guilty. "She was there when I was angry. So. If it had been anyone else..."

Chrissy had been so quiet since then. She spent the last three days walking Bri around, helping her eat, taking care of her like their Nana's home helper. Bri looked borderline catatonic with Glenn and Chrissy pushing her into the RV and away from prying eyes, but Cory didn't know Chrissy had seen whatever happened, much less that she had a place in it at all. Was she helping out because she felt bad about making Bri upset? Or Chrissy thought Bri would do it again? He wished someone else had been in the tent with Bri.

"You said you were sorry?"

"Yes, Cory, I did."

Cory remembered Uncle B. He was kind of a forbidden topic at home, but Nana always had plenty to say about him. Said she was fine for her only son to rot in jail for what he did to his children. But Cory's mother was always quick to remind them that their uncle had an illness which was causing him plenty of grief, and the last thing the man needed was his family to turn against him, too. Chrissy knew this well enough. Mom talked a lot about being a team player.

His question felt naive as he said it, but he hoped Bri would have an answer. "Why are you sad?"

Bri laughed the same empty laugh.

"Sorry."

"No--" she waved her hand lazily, the more injured one, while sipping from her cup. "I've been sad a long time. So there's not a reason anymore, I guess."

He held his mouth to the side, terse in thought. "I'm sad sometimes, too."

"About your Mom and Dad?"

He nodded. "And I don't know what happened to my Nana or the Sheltons."

"Sheltons probably got out. Everything was missing, but nothing was broken inside."

"I try not to think about them, though."

She scoffed and dug her heels into the dirt beneath her sneakers. "I try not to think about them, too."

Her family upstate, the ones she said she was heading for when they first met; though was it was still a goal for her? She obviously couldn't do much now, but she hadn't tried to get away from camp before her accident.

"Who?" Did she have brothers and sisters, is that why she helped him and his sister out of their neighborhood? Was her family expecting her? Would Chrissy let them go with her when she left?

"My brother." She sniffed into the sleeve of her windbreaker. "He died a few years ago."

Oh.

"It doesn't help to try not to think about them." Bri kept on. "But I don't know what does."

Was drinking how she tried to forget? He knew from his uncle that it could be an addiction, but if Bri realized it wasn't helping, why hadn't she tried to stop?

And God, he couldn't even imagine if Chrissy died. He'd be it, then. His friends always liked his birthday parties best, because he had the best family to hang around and play games with, but he didn't know how to carry on traditions alone.

Bri would be the last, too, if her family upstate wasn't alright, and between thoughts of his family and her's, somewhere far away, suffering in how the world was now, he began to cry, too, heavy like he hadn't yet let himself.

He didn't sense Bri's discomfort as she set down her thermos. Blindly pawing away the tears, he could only feel her hands on either shoulder.

Looking up, Cory saw, in the low light, that Bri was awfully upset, too, but was trying to calm him in a simple way, like his mom would when everyone was upset at the same time and needed to take a minute. He considered that this might have been how Chrissy got Bri out of Glenn's tent and to Shane.

Cory flung himself around Bri's shoulders.

He stood while Bri remained seated, leaving him several inches taller, and bending to hide his face in the crook of her neck. As his frame wracked with sobs, Bri held him to her, with little attempt at soothing him, other than occasional pats on his back.

They stayed this way until he calmed. "Hey. Cory, you should get some sleep." She pulled back, and hesitantly kissed his cheek after wiping away tracks of tears from both his and her eyes.

Bri stood, forcing Cory to retreat to the larger of the two tents, where he could hopefully hit a deep sleep before Chrissy and Andrea returned; all the little noises in camp woke him easily, and after a long day with Jim, and thinking so hard about Bri and Chrissy and everyone he loved, he was scared he would have nightmares if he didn't just pass out.

"Will you sit with me?"

Bri followed him through the flap, which he left awry for her easy exit. She wasn't very good at tucking him in, not like his mom or even Chrissy (Andrea never tried to tuck him in, because maybe she thought he was a big kid, which he was, but it would've been nice of her to try, like Bri), but Bri did her best to make him snug and comfortable.

He thought of something he realized while eating lunch in the RV, and shimmied his arms above the thin sheet and his sleeping bag. "Bri?"

She hummed.

"I think it's Chrissy's birthday."

She knit her brows. "She would've told me if it was."

Cory shook his head, implying Chrissy wouldn't have. "I saw on Dale's calendar. Do you still have those candy bars?"

"I ate them." Bri's admission restarted the tracks of tears.

"Oh." Cory twisted his lip in concentration. His sister wasn't the softest person, but maybe he could find some flowers somewhere? Maybe Bri would walk the perimeter with him. "Do you know what I should give her?"

"I don't know." Bri sighed, running her fingers over the frayed edge of her bandage. "I can ask Glenn to bring her somethin' back."

Cory denied the offer. "Essentials only, right?"

"Glenn's nice, he'll get you whatever."

"You don't want to get her something?"

Bri shrugged. "Don't know enough about her."

Cory's eyes widened, and despite his tiredness, he perked up. "I can tell you."

"Sure."

He searched for a place to start, something easy, about the both of them. "She hates reading, but I like it. She played sports, but I didn't. Mom wanted her to learn the piano, but since Mom wanted her to do it, she wouldn't. She likes mysteries. Dad showed up _Clue_ a long time ago. I think she might want to be a detective."

Bri's lips curled, showing no teeth, but giving a warm smile. "The board game."

"What?"

" _Clue_. It's based off a board game."

Cory concluded, "Then we get her _Clue_."

Bri seemed happy she could be of some use.

"Did your mom ever sing you to sleep?"

He shook his head.

"Do you want me to see if it'll work?"

"Sure."

She had only sang in the truck on the way to Atlanta, and that day felt like it happened years ago. She had only been messing around, too, and he wondered if she would sound different from the little he remembered. After a thought, she started.

" _Jesse come home, there's a hole in the bed where we slept..._ "

Her voice didn't match her, not the Bri who was a day or two overdue for a shower, who smelled like a hospital, who looked like she belonged in one. Her voice was clean and light, momentarily unsure from how she hadn't used it in so long.

" _All the pictures are fading and shaded in grey, but I still set a place on the table at noon; and I'm leaving a light on the stairs..._ "

He must have been extremely still, because after another song, Bri brushed the hair from his forehead and kissed him once more, before leaving to her own tent.

He wasn't asleep. He was thinking. About how maybe they were becoming, not a family like he used to have, but maybe like a team.

When Chrissy and Andrea returned, Cory scared them both by curling into Chrissy's side and tucking his head to her chest and bawling his eyes out. Chrissy's arms found him without needing convincing. Andrea didn't intrude, but he felt their silent conversation over his head, and heard their little sniffs which he wished they wouldn't keep in, because it would make him feel a lot less alone.

Cory missed hugs. His Mom's especially, for how rare they seemed to be given. Such a cold woman bottled up her ounces of warmth, so when the need was most crucial, she would be there to pass it on; Bri's weren't physically similar to Mom's, but the feeling was the same. His Dad's were always cushioned and casual, and Cory imagined hugging Shane would be closest he might ever get again, but he didn't want to try and end disappointed.

Chrissy had a picture. She'd taken it from the Shelton's house. Mom looked like a supermodel and Dad was staring at her like he couldn't believe his luck, the way he always seemed to stare at her. The photo was years old, her and Cory were maybe ten and five respectively, running around their yard in ugly, matching jumpsuits, hand-sewn by Mrs. Shelton. A day Cory couldn't remember, and a feeling he felt he would always be searching for. He was grinning in the picture and wished he could force himself, now, to smile in the way that made his cheeks hurt, his head ache, and his heart burst. He used to be a happy child, he knew that much, and now he could barely remember anything before the end.

* * *

Chrissy repeatedly tried to initiate the discussion Bri had agreed to having; Bri couldn't find the words to answer a single question, causing Chrissy's pity to dissipate, and her annoyance to mount. Shit, Bri managed to give Cory an inch, but Chrissy expected the mile.

It was late afternoon and a week after the accident. Cory was off helping Dale and Jim, and Bri agreed to allow Chrissy to spoon feed her a squirrel soup Carol whipped up; movement in Bri's left hand irritated the stitches, while her dominant right hand was all but medically confirmed to have nerve or tendon damage.

Not being able to lift the spoon steadily in either hand set her into a fit.

She used her new pillow, stolen from Shane's tent, as a punching bag, and the strain of making fists ripped stitches on each hand, ending blood everywhere again, and making Chrissy cry again, which made Bri cry again.

Bri wanted to leave it, to let them try to heal on their own, too stubborn to untuck her leaking palms from the hem of her tank top. Daryl was on a hunt, meaning Shane would be their first line of aide, and Bri wasn't sure she wanted him near her with a needle after finding out she had fucked up again or going and wasting her vodka on sterilizing the lacerations.

Chrissy slapped her across the face, pulling her out of the well of denial.

The younger picked up a half-empty bottle from the stash in the corner, retrieved with Bri's photo albums the morning after the incident in what Chrissy admitted was a misguided show of good faith. Bri began the walk of shame to the RV.

"Bri."

She ignored the hitch in how Shane said her name, the disappointment which seeped from it. She ignored, as well, Lori's stare as the officer left her and her son to take care of more pressing matters; Bri could never differentiate Lori's looks of disdain and pity, and wondered if every stare held traces of both.

The first aid kit now resided on a shelf above the stove, beside the fridge, a designated location for easy access. Chrissy retrieved it while Bri slid into the booth. Déjà vu set in, and Bri pitifully swigged out of the vodka bottle with her already busted left hand. At least Dale had taken the time to clear off the operating table.

Shane appeared beside her, sudden and nervy, and removed the bottle from her hands. "We'll need that in a sec." He pushed the bottle across the table, where Chrissy sat anxiously with the kit and paper towels, and she wiped blood from the bottleneck.

The pressure of Bri's death grip on her tank top staunched the bleeding temporarily, and Shane suggested she take it off, so the injuries would be easier to assess slowly, rather than let them bleed all over the stained booth and table.

Chrissy lip trembled as she calmed herself. "Yeah maybe if she wore a bra for once." Bri swore she heard a _Fucking idiot_ tacked onto the end. Rummaging through the kitchenette, Chrissy procured a dish towel, and aided in the bloody transfer.

Though a large part of Bri wished Chrissy would stick around, like she'd been so adamant in doing days earlier, the younger girl excused herself and stomped out. Shane slid into the booth and Bri made room. 

"There goes that truce." Shane tried to be tender while cleaning up the stray tendrils of dripping blood, removing the soaked bandages on unaffected areas while using soap and water to clear the way for him to work. Every turn of her hand or press of a towel sent ripples of pain up her arms, worse than the first time.

Bri tried to hide the hurt of rejection. "Bound to break sometime."

He paused. "I'm sorry it didn't last."

"Didn't think it would." Bri was quick to show her nonchalance.

Shane hummed and continued his work, confident with the basics, but growing anxious and hesitant as he approached the popped stitches. Pouring vodka over the unwrapped wounds, he asked. "What'd you do before? Just sing?"

The wince was less from physical pain, and more from seeing the alcohol dribble off the curve of her wrists. "Yeah. Glenn tell you?"

"Said you were famous." He attempted her left hand first, taking the tweezers to the broken threads with his arms pinning her's in place. "I think he might have a crush."

"I'm just someone from before."

"That'll do it, won't it?" The pull of thread beneath her skin felt like little worms through apples, and the imagery made Bri gag. "Y'good?"

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling to blink back tears. It was answer enough for Shane.

"What'd you sing?" He asked in the same voice he'd spoken to her with when she'd first fucked up her hands. Then, he hadn't asked anything about her, just talked low about childhood injuries and his best friend and the mischief they'd get into. It was the voice she herself used when she needed to reel Benny down from a fit, the voice Chrissy was learning to use while tending to her, and the voice which Shane as an officer of the law was surely well-versed with using. "Country?"

"Well, not strummin' my guitar in my pickup country. Folk mostly. Joan Baez, Dylan. Some Johnny Cash."

With the start of the removal of a particularly embedded stitch, Shane prompted her once more. "Cash can get pretty 'strummin' in the pickup'."

"Not all of it." Bri winced. "Not the stuff at the end, all the cover albums."

"The sad shit?"

"Yeah, the sad shit."

"You one of those wallowin'-in-despair types?" He half-grinned, like he already knew the answer.

She smirked despite herself. "Guess so."

Briefly, he spoke about the album, _Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison_ , which she agreed was a rather good one, due to it being such an immersive live performance. The discussion distracted enough for him to remove the last of the loose stitches, but Shane needed full focus as he soaked a needle in vodka. After a moment's hesitation, he reluctantly held out the bottle and let her take a swig.

Daryl worked with precision and speed to minimize the torture; Shane's fear of potentially worsening the injury again overwhelmed his consideration for the pain she was already in, and he took much longer than the former in stitching her up.

In silence between the pair, her frequent whimpers and sucking of breath became more clear. After his third or fourth apology, Bri began to cry profusely, and her efforts of blinking them back or wiping them away were impeded by the angle he leaned over her. She almost placed her head on Shane's shoulder to muffle her sobs.

"Almost done. Promise."

With the left hand. For having taken so long, Bri knew he was avoiding the mess he was sure to find within her right. In the transfer from her shirt to the kitchen towel, she'd caught a glimpse of the wreckage, and she figured it might all be a lot easier to just cut it off now.

When finished with the long, thick cut, Shane shifted his weight and motioned for Bri to sit sideways in the booth so he had better access of her right hand. She moved as indicated, setting the mended hand gingerly against her crossed legs. The stitches were haphazard at worst and evenly spaced and clean at best. She wondered how her hands would appear once healed, if there would be extensive scarring or what-- Benny's lacerations from his first attempt were treated by actual doctors. By the time his attempt was successful, maybe three years later, the scars were pretty faded. Those were done by professionals, not by a half-informed cop and a drifter who reminded her too much of the types she used to hang around with. Having ugly hands had never been a concern of her's, but she was becoming conscious of them.

Shane settled her hand on the table and removed the towel, careful not to tear at the forming scabs. He set the broken makeshift brace to the side. "We get some wood, duct tape, you'll be good to go again."

"I think Glenn found some sort of arthritis brace? Once the bandage is off, I'll use that." Looking forward, trying to figure out the next little step was good, right?

He nodded while thoroughly cleaning the worst cut, the slice down the center of her right palm. The last of the vodka poured over the needle again, to lessen chances of infection. Bri was sure he poured more than needed to spite her without being overtly rude, to waste up the stash which seemed to be the catalyst of every issue.

Bri tried to follow his actions and make a mental catalog of their order; it all seemed straightforward, but surely easier said than done. When she could no longer stare at the wound, she scanned the cluttered RV. She was certain Cory had been in there more often than she or his sister, as he seemed to have developed a rapport with Dale, but the only sign of the camp's children was a pencil and crayon drawing of the old man and his floppy bucket hat, standing watch on the RV, held beneath a magnet on the fridge. In the bottom right hand corner, it was signed ' _EM '10_ '.

She sucked her teeth as Shane began to stitch.

There was little art in the main cabin, though she couldn't speak for the back bedroom; if it were up to Bri, it would be covered in posters and pictures and artwork and anything Bri could use to cover up the ugly wallpaper. On a small corkboard were a few postcards indicating sights of the southeast coast. She recognized Graceland tucked in a far corner, one of the most faded cards, while the more recent trips overlapped with each other at the bottom of the board; Baton Rouge, Biloxi, nature walks in south Georgia, and a brilliant blue card displaying the familiar aquarium in Atlanta.

Above the driver's seat was a framed picture of a woman, and a framed cross-stitch of a motor home, with its words illegible from the booth.

Shane's voice pulled her back from the decor, and unfortunately reminded her of the little, stabbing needle. Her instinct was to reach for her bottle, but seeing it abandoned with the medical waste, she had half a mind to chuck it across the RV.

"What are your plans?"

"Like... how do you mean?"

"Going forward--" He paused his needlework and gazed up at her, "Any idea of what happens next?"

"What are _your_ plans going forward?" Her tone was a mix of pain and confusion. What _next_ was he referring to? Next in recovery? Next bad decision? How she would handle Chrissy? Next, like, where they would go from camp when folks began to realize no one was coming for them?

Her train of thought led to the very station he was considering. "You hear anything about Fort Benning when you were out there?"

"The people I hung with... they were callin' me with what they'd looted from high end boutiques and askin' if I wanted first picks for resale. Not rumors about the cavalry." Some company she'd kept. Bri believed she loved all those people she'd known from middle school and never let go of because they knew her business and knew to stay out of it, because any new friends she made, well, look at Amy-- Bri would have to try and fail at explaining her deep, dark, depressing bullshit, and that just wouldn't work. And truthfully, she had avoided human interaction until the kids stumbled upon her, and if she hadn't met them, she would have kept to herself, still. Bri admitted, "I haven't thought about the long run."

Shane cocked his head before returning her injuries. "Glenn says traffic is backed up miles out of the city, but side roads might be clear, and if anywhere there'd be a _cavalry_... I'm thinkin' it'd have to be there." Shane tied off the first section of the laceration, having cut the first thread too short.

"Atlanta's dead and dangerous. If Glenn doesn't start bringin' out bigger groups..." Bri grimaced as she snuck a look at her hand. After practicing on her left, he was more sure of himself, but the skin puckered unevenly around the sutures in a way it hadn't when Daryl had done it. Whenever he got back, she would have to swallow her pain and pride and ask him to give her a once-over; but God forbid he have to redo Shane's work. She finished her thought, "I don't know. None of us are really... fighters, I guess. I can kill the walkers, but I'm sure there's gangs all over."

"Morales said they caught wind of one last time they were out." Shane motioned to the medical supplies. "I'm thinkin' we start considering packin' up shop."

Bri sensed that _we_ was not all inclusive to the thirty-odd people of their camp by the quarry. "You runnin' this by me for my expertise?"

"Ah, well, Lori thinks we oughta stay put 'til the Guard comes around."

In a mix of laughter and anguish, Bri stifled a comment about being dragged into their lover's quarrel.

Shane took this as a jab at his thought process and his grip tightened. "You agree with Lori?"

"No, no. I don't think anyone's comin' 'round for us."

The wriggling in Shane's grasp brought him back to the task at hand. He prepped the next bit of thread, cutting a far longer piece than necessary to ensure the job would get done.

Bri continued, "But we will need Glenn goin' in more often. Plenty of things we need here, and we'll need to stockpile if we want to try the roads. Which we should. And when I'm healed up, I'll be goin' on in with Glenn, too."

This stilled Shane once more. "Don't think that's a good idea."

She winced at the pause in motion. "I just mean," She searched for how to articulate, in a less assertive way, what she meant, "all hands on deck, right?" She parroted the words he'd said when they first spoke. "Everybody needs to be onboard. Right, cap'n?"

He snapped, and Bri was sure he didn’t realize this was her _trying_.

"You talk 'bout _all hands on deck, right_ , and are out here breakin' open your’s to avoid the jobs we set out, avoid being a team player, like we need. Can you even hold a weapon now? Could you before? I've never even seen ya use one. Nary an ax to cut wood for the fires. I wonder still, what _would_ you end up lookin' for?"

At his change of tone, Bri pulled her half-stitched hand from his. Tears bloomed and she sniffed them back. The progress she tried to make faltered. "Well, I can't do shit now, can I. "

"If you and Amy would just watch the kids, get 'em out their mamas' hair for a bit. You can absolutely do that. Don't take much work--" Bri tear-filled eyes were layered with a scowl. "--physically, you don't gotta do anythin'." He placed her hand back on the table, and kept it there. "You wanted to help. Did watch. Then you didn't want responsibility. Fucked yourself up so you wouldn't have to do a thing. Now there's barely anything you're able to do and you're begging for a job. But only the ones that you want. You know what that sounds like. Right?"

Shit, it sounded like Carl, and she assumed _whiny little kid_ was precisely what Shane was going for. Even Chrissy accepted her job and stuck to it this long.

"Fix me up." Bri opened her palm and let him work. His movements weren't as tender, weren't as conscious of her pain as he had been, and she wasn't sure whether it was deliberate injury or his own annoyance coming out through the little jabs.

The stitches finally completed, he slathered on the gauze pad, replaced the smaller butterfly bandages where needed, and clothed her hand in the sickeningly stark white wrap.

Shane's talking down to her, no matter how honest, dug beneath her skin as painfully as his terrible stitching. She wanted to go and find Chrissy and give her a hug and try to salvage their burgeoning neutrality. Bri moved to leave.

"Hey--" Soft and stern, no longer condescending or invoking his officer voice. "I'm serious. Fort Benning. Get those kids outta here. Soon as you're in shape, I'll show y'how to shoot." A big promise from the man who stole her guns. "You're right. We've all got jobs we gotta do. But for now that includes what we don't wanna."

For a moment, she was back with Benny. Learning about what he did while bouncing from job to job, rehab to therapy. _We all do things we don't want to to get by_. Benny being a drug dealer and whatever else to keep himself off the streets was much heavier than Bri sucking it up and babysitting some damn kids. Shit, she'd done worse, too, out of both necessity and reckless boredom. Benny would fucking love playing catch and dolls and doing hair and homework because it was all so mundane and still so helpful.

Bri suddenly felt brave, whether from residual anger, or from what felt like Benny's hand on her shoulder, she wasn't sure. "Why are you trying? With me."

Her question caught Shane off guard. "Bri--" To avoid word vomit, it seemed, he paused and gathered his thoughts. He laughed, to start, which threw her off. "You might be the only dumb, drunk college kid left in Georgia. And when you can be dumb and drunk with your college friends, there's camaraderie, it's all good and well to get through what you need to get through thataways. But I think you know it's different now--"

Bri chuckled, like _No shit_.

"--and I also think you didn't just start drinking 'cause of the fun of it. I'm not prying. I just know a lot of guys in the department, that had a lot of ways to cope. You don't roll into the dorms and average anywhere near what you do. All I'm saying."

Instead of growing defensive, like her gut told her to, Bri nodded.

"I think, if you are the type of kid I think, you would've found somethin', as time went on, somethin' that really pulled ya out and kinda... gave you some purpose. Might've been singin'... might've been rocket science. Or you could crash and burn and die before twenty-five, but I don't see you as that type, cause you ain’t just given up yet."

That broke something, a wall of some sort. Shane wasn't condescending to her as much as he was making an attempt at walking her through it all. She wondered if it was police training or personal experience.

Bri inhaled and exhaled heavily, a heaving motion which brought on the last of her uncried tears-- she was over all the crying, and she couldn't even blame PMS. But like she'd felt the other day, hugging Chrissy, there was light beneath all the mess of it all.

"Saving those kids... giving them some kind of hope... I'm not sayin' child-rearin's gotta be your lot in life, but helpin' an inch more, tryin' just a _little_ harder. Maybe even stoppin'--" He raised his hand so she wouldn't interrupt, "You're right," he repeated, "I don't think nobody's comin' 'round for us, either. So we gotta do what we gotta do. We just... gotta figure out what we gotta do, first, and be ready to do that. You feel me?"

With her left hand, the unbandaged palm, she wiped her eyes. They still sat with her knees against his right thigh, squeezed into the booth, and if she felt less familiar with Shane, as she might have before her accident, she would have been paralyzed with claustrophobia. But he let her sit and think his words over with an empathizing patience which kept her calm.

"Okay." Bri nudged him to move from the booth. "I feel you." She flashed a small smile, which he reciprocated.

In the back of her mind, Bri was committed to hugging the shit out of Chrissy and wrapping up the cry fest together. Maybe they could talk about Fort Benning.

When Bri returned to their set-up, Chrissy was waiting by the flap with a bowl of soup. At the sight of Bri, she shoved it at her and flattened Bri's hope beneath her stomping heels.

 _There goes that_ _truce_.

* * *

There in Glenn's pocket remained a supply list, doubling in the time since the night of the accident. It was all he thought about in the week since: the list and Bri.

And not in the way Glenn first thought of her, while driving her and the kids into the hills. He could ignore it now: her bleary blue eyes and the sunlight bouncing off of them, making them literally sparkle; the scattered freckles replaced with sunburn as her cheeks were exposed to the elements; reddish-brown hair falling out of a knot at the nape of her neck. He could ignore it now, because it made him feel like shit. Because then, he ignored how she smelled like booze and stared at nothing, and thought of her as a pretty face and a reminder of life before, and that had been so shitty of him. He knew nothing about her that Amy hadn't passed along. He didn't know how hurt she was.

Every time he passed Bri, dejected and sipping from a flask, his gut churned. He wanted to apologize, but for what? _Sorry for mentally objectifying you as a way to cope with the world ending_. Glenn wasn't even sure he was present in Bri's mind, even a thought she had while she stared endlessly at specks of dust in the sky.

Glenn was filling in for the evening watch. The moonlight, the lamplight, and the sprinkling of campfires lined together in perfection and from the way Bri walked the aisle of tents with a quiet fury, he would've thought she was the _Firestarter_ herself.

He threw up over the edge of the RV, and excused himself, asking T-Dog to step in. Glenn didn't know if she'd want to talk, she never offered, or if Chrissy would be steps behind her to ward him off, like the personal bodyguard position she'd given to herself.

But Chrissy was paces behind Bri, speaking low to Sophia. Glenn stopped still, glancing between Bri, out of the light, slipping to the sidelines to pick up her dinner, and Chrissy wringing her nervous hands as Sophia ran off on a mission. The balls of his feet lifted to follow Bri, to say something after all.

"Glenn."

Chrissy looked rattled, sleep-deprived, but on a mission. She'd taken on so much responsibility to prove herself, and she'd more than gained everyone's respect. Glenn heard the whispers; no one else wanted to deal with The Bri Problem.

"Yeah! What's up!" Glenn attempted a chipper greeting, and ran his thumb across his lip, hoping his breath didn't smell like stomach acid.

"You preppin' for that run?" It wasn't a conversation starter, it was a statement, and Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, ready to add her request to it.

The folded piece of notebook paper had been amended and torn and taped as it was passed around from person to person. It was pitiful how he kept failing to do his one job, kept having to put off getting one thing to get another.

The plan was for the next run, a larger group would go. The thought made his stomach lurch again, but he swallowed it down for the sake of the younger girl. "Do you need me to get something?"

"I wanna come with."

T-Dog told him as much the day Bri had her accident and Chrissy stepped up as monitor. Glenn thought Chrissy forgot about it. Hoped she had.

"We're pretty full up for the run. Wouldn't you rather stay with Bri?"

"No." The maturity in her voice was no longer forced, like it had been their first days in camp. Whatever Bri had or hadn't told her, it weighed leaden across her shoulders. "Amy'll take care of her, if we'll only be gone a day. And Andrea's going. So, Bri'll be a distraction."

Glenn faltered. "Have you asked Bri?"

Chrissy's lip twitched. She ran her index finger down the bridge of her nose. "She said it'd be fine if I got out for a while."

He caught the little, jerking movement. "Really?"

"No. But she'd let me."

"Ask her. I can't be responsible for her being upset." Glenn admitted, and meant it in regards to more than just the supply run. God, what if something happened to Chrissy? He would help where he could, but he had jobs, too. Could Cory live with being an orphan _and_ losing his sister, and only having a mentally ill, drunk babysitter as a reminder of before? Glenn stopped himself from spiraling out, and stopped the consideration entirely. "I don't think you should go."

Her jaw slacked. "Excuse me?" Chrissy quit slouching. With the thick soles of her tennis shoes, the pair were eye-to-eye, and she closed the gap between them, despite his stepping backwards. "You saw me leavin' Atlanta, you think I can't handle it?"

"I-- uh, well, I-- er." Glenn blinked rapidly. Chrissy was less of a chihuahua now, and more of a Doberman; if she was going to threaten her way onto the run team, it would absolutely work.

"Do I need to talk to Shane?" She intoned.

Glenn wasn't sure Shane would disagree with him about the risk. Not only mortal danger on Chrissy's part, but the dominoes her, God forbid, death would tumble over. "No."

He meant it as an end of the conversation, but at the curl of Chrissy's lips, his resolve hadn't read. "Good. When are we headin' out?"

"That's not--"

"I heard Andrea say it was a few days, but I wanted to touch base."

Her brown eyes were edged with steel, daring him to question her ability; he knew that's what this was: if he said no, he was saying she wasn't capable, when they both knew she was. And Glenn was sure Chrissy needed to get away from Bri, for at least a little while. He wasn't sure if they'd settled on even ground since the event, but one was rarely without the other. Maybe separation would clear her head? There _would_ be a lot of people covering her back.

"I--"

"Yes?"

"Okay. I'm scouting with T and Morales in a day or so. We're pushing the run to a week from today. "

In her proximity, she rested an awkward claw on his shoulder. Another dare, this time for him to change his mind. "See ya."

Walking towards a circle of smiling children, Chrissy established a spring in her step, no longer wringing out her wrists, but tucking her hands confidently in her sweatpants pockets.

"Damn, Chinaman, how's it feel to be a little girl's little bitch?" Merle Dixon spoke through a mouthful of rice and rabbit, and Glenn took his leave as the man's laughter carried on the breeze.

* * *

Five days and Chrissy hadn't said a Goddamn word.

Well, she'd sent Cory and Amy as in-betweens, but the point was pretty clear. _You fucked up again, you're on your own_. 

It felt a little rude to Bri, for Chrissy to only give her the one chance, but Chrissy said Bri reminded her of someone who'd gone over the edge, and maybe Bri was just too far gone to be saved by a what, fourteen-year-old? Yeah. Bri would let Chrissy sort out her shit while she sorted out her own.

Shane's talk gave her confidence enough that Bri, albeit slowly, might be able to pull herself to the other side of life: not that mystical happy-sober-fulfilled dreamland from commercials and TV, but of someone like Sage who bounced from struggle to struggle and never stopped having hardships, but who could say he learned boatloads from every year, every love, and every loss. Bri always thought she was content with letting life move around her, but what was the concept Sage never managed to drill into her head? Proactivity? Going with the flow while still standing up for himself. Helping everyone thoughtless of his own gain for good karma or the like. At the very least, she would, as Shane said, _try_ in the indeterminable days going forward.

Merle had extended a secretive olive branch she'd never followed up on, so with Bri's boredom and lack of a personal chauffeur, she walked the trail to the Dixon's clearing with her own show of good faith.

Due to more whining than thanks, the Dixons took one more day off from hunting to spite the masses, though rain clouds coming in was the official excuse, how tracks would be harder to follow; Daryl would go back out to the woods once the rain let up, and Merle would be joining Glenn's group going into the city.

The sight of Merle's smug face was nearly enough to turn Bri around back to her tent, but instead of an action which may seem weak, she sat in the chair he typically used, and propped her feet on a downed log. Power move. She lifted her bottle of pure, Russian vodka. "To peace treaties." She drank.

"That's where that went?" In Daryl's husky voice were traces of humor. He nudged her feet off the log. "You eatin' out here tonight?" He moved to grab another paper plate.

She hadn't meant to stay long, but the brothers were bound to have better food than peanut butter on saltines. "If you'll have me." Laughing into the bottle, Bri watched as Daryl nodded and fixed her a plate of pork and beans. "I'm no longer welcome in civilization, if I ever was. _Christine's_ got a vendetta."

As Daryl passed the plate over, he looked torn between commenting and keeping quiet. Maybe something in Bri's gaze warned him off, because he didn't bring up Chrissy or the camp.

Bri stabbed at the meal aimlessly with a plastic fork. The coordination in her left hand was better now the smaller injuries were healed and the larger cuts were far enough along that every minuscule movement didn't irritate them. Her right hand was still shot to hell, throbbing to let her know the damage was not to her nerves, but to something uncomfirmed. She could make a fist, grip when necessary, but avoided such movements to keep the stitches intact; she couldn't straighten her hand completely, either, leaving her with a temporary claw-shaped curvature. It was useful, at least, to keep her bottle steady in her lap while she focused on eating.

Merle filled the fallen silence with a tale of getting a lifetime ban from Zoo Atlanta a decade or so back; it would have been pretty hilarious, if it hadn't conjured up gruesome imagery of how the creatures fared in their current situation. She set her half-eaten meal to the side, and accepted a bottle of water from Daryl.

"Y'done with that?" Bri passed her abandoned plate to Merle with her good hand. He settled back with his seconds and had a thought. "Y'know... I might ask the Asian boy if we can't make a pit stop. I wanna try elephant."

" _Glenn_ ," Bri corrected without thinking, "will be focused on gettin' y'all in and out. No vacations."

"I'm just sayin', a little detour wouldn't hurt."

Bri waved him off. "Look, I had a reason for makin' the trek to the slums--"

"And I'm flattered, darlin'."

Hiding a cringe, Bri dug in the pockets of her freshly cleaned jeans and waved around a small orange pill bottle.

"Oh?" Merle's curiosity was piqued.

She held it to her chest. "An exchange of goods-- I don't think I can drink if I take these, but my hand hurts like a bitch."

The bottle hit Merle square in the nose before he could catch them in his lap. Unfazed, he read the label with a grin.

"That's what I thought." She took a swig of vodka and leaned back. "I just need somethin' I can take instead."

"You want the truth?"

Bri shrugged.

"Pop a few of these, have a beer, you'll be right as rain. No need in stoppin'."

Daryl scoffed but didn't argue with his brother.

"Ibuprofen won't do shit." Bri nodded because she knew it wouldn't, kid-strength painkillers were all she had taken so far. Merle popped the childproof cap, deposited three or four of the little white pills in his palm, capped the bottle, and tossed it back. "These is the big leagues, so cut back on the," he mimicked taking a shot, "imbinin' overall, just a little bit. Keep it in a window, I mean, don't sip all day. Don't gotta stop." He reassured her.

Merle procured a pocket knife and a small tin tray from his kit. He crushed a circular pill with the blade, and divided it into two lines. "Little brother?" He offered, but Daryl shook his head. "More for me then." He snorted the lines through a rolled bill, whooping all dramatically.

Merle slunk off into the woods for a piss break, before calling it a night, citing his ' _big, big day tomorrow_ ' as an excuse.

At Merle's sketchy advice, Bri took two pills, following them with water rather than alcohol. Step one to cutting back, right?

"Prob'ly shouldn't be mixin' those." Daryl's gravelly voice drew her attention.

"Yeah, probably shouldn't."

A half hour after Daryl had uncovered Bri's hands and gave them a once-over, with grunts of disapproval at her admission of breaking her stitches and having Shane redo them, she was throwing up vodka, beans, and any remnants of the drugs. Her system must have completely rejected them.

Daryl held her hair back as she upchucked into a patch of daisies, which was one of the nicer things a man had ever done for her. He made her drink water once she quit dryheaving.

Dale, Amy, and Andrea were still eating when Daryl walked Bri over to her tent, and he made a quick exit. Amy rushed to Bri's side, and for the first time, Bri made no move to escape her grasp, while Dale and Andrea no doubt shared looks of disappointment or disgust.

When Bri was half-asleep, tucked into her sleeping bag with a damp cloth across her forehead, Amy spoke to Andrea and Dale outside the tent, voice low and clear through the thin tarp.

"She's sick, don't you fucking see that? She's not trying to get attention, she's trying to deal with her shit on her own and no one is trying hard enough to show her that we're here for her."

At silence, or a comment soft enough Bri couldn't hear, Amy huffed.

"If I'm the only one who gives a shit, so be it."

Bri hid her tears in her pillow as Amy trampled back in.

Even Shane hadn't gone out of his way to defend Bri's honor; Bri felt terrible for how she had underestimated Amy's resolve.

Bri didn't want to talk, didn't want to embarrass Amy or anything, but she sniffed too loudly, startling Amy as she curled into her pallet.

"Shit. I'm sorry. Was I too loud coming in?"

Bri shook her head. "Thank you."

The tent was pitch black, but Bri knew a blush was spread across the apples of Amy's cheeks. "I didn't mean that no one--"

"It was nice of you to say, is all."

Amy scooched her bag over to Bri's, leaving them face to face. "I meant it. I'm totally here for you for literally whatever you need. I know Chrissy's got your back, too, and I promise not everyone hates you, they're just more worried about themselves."

Bri wasn't so sure about Chrissy anymore, but it was a kind sentiment to pass on.

Amy held out her hand, and Bri took it, laughing lightly when Amy kissed her knuckles.

"We're all gonna be okay, okay?"

Bri hoped she could make herself believe in Amy's words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iono how often i'll include canon pov (but as time goes on ik i'll want to utilize it (especially w shane oml) and i don't want it to pop up for the first time 20 chs in) but i love glenn sm and figured he would be a good test run even tho its the shortest section
> 
> songs included:  
>  _Hey, Who Really Cares_ by Linda Perhacs  
>  _Jesse_ by Janis Ian


	5. Articulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had rly low motivation for this chapter until i realized what i wanted to do w it, but even then i like some sections more than others. BUT i'm v excited for the next chapter bc it'll follow 1x02 and the run. anyways! you know the drill, canon dialogue used here and in all future chapters does not belong to me.
> 
> tw for homophobic slurs, mention of suicide, mention of cancer, mention of dark situations further unspecified

With torrential rain not calming until late afternoon, Glenn's official word on the run was, "Whenever we can manage it." His nervous eyes glinted wide with guilt between Shane and Bri and the crowd who seemed to blame the change of plans on Glenn instead of the unpredictable weather.

Under the sprinkling of rain, on evening watch, Bri shared an umbrella with Dale. As useless as she would be at handling threats, after his spiel, she figured Shane couldn't be angry at her for taking initiative. The children were with their families for supper, and after a day stuck with Amy and the girls, Bri welcomed the sputtering rainfall and light breeze.

She used Dale as a sounding board for her half-drunk, quasi-philosophical musings about coping and how things might change going forward. She didn't let Dale get a word in on his own opinions on her dependency, but he understood.

"I have to say I'm surprised you'd come to me with this. But I'm honored you trust me."

Bri wasn't sure it was trust as much as knowing age meant worldly experience. Sure, Chrissy had the uncle who was all too similar to Bri, but not only were they not speaking, Bri already felt so fucking awful about saddling Chrissy with her mess, she felt any further questions would set the girl along a similar path to her own. Instead, she told Dale, "You remind me of my Grandpa."

It was a lie, Bri never had any grandparents, but Dale filled the role with ease; he was kind and lonely, and through eating dinner with them so often, he was a grandfatherly figure to the small group. Anyone would be lucky, Bri thought, to have a Grandpa like Dale.

The Dixons kept the camp running before the storm, but with impeded tracks, hunts were near futile. Glenn and T-Dog headed out to scavenge houses in desperation. But as Shane walked tent-to-tent, informing the survivors of his plan for rationing the remaining non-perishables, Merle stomped into camp with dead deer slung over his shoulders. Daryl clutched his stained cloth sack, half-full of smaller carcasses. Shane still gave a pep talk to ease the building tension. The rationing of meat and canned goods, along with fish from the lake, would last them until Glenn returned; and things would smooth over once the team could search longer in the city.

After Daryl's kindness, Bri made sure to thank him. Holding back her hair meant saving her another walk of shame to the RV.

"Weren't nothin'."

She wasn't sure she ever even thanked him for her hands, so she thanked him for that, too.

"Shit, girl, y'ain't got nothin' else to do?"

Bri recognized his discomfort and lessened her efforts, only holding her hands beside her ears in a motion meaning, _No, I ain't got nothin' else to do_.

Daryl must have felt as shitty as Shane about not being able to do anything else to help, because he didn't laugh. He reminded her, "You busted 'em, so ya need another day or so. Then _I'ma_ take 'em out."

Merle didn't mind one bit how Bri took to lurking around their campsite; her disgust at his ribald comments came clear in the deepening of her sunburned cheeks, which egged him on. Every few minutes, Daryl would turn from sharpening his knife or cleaning an arrow, sensing Bri's presence to the side of their tent.

"You waitin' for first choice or summin'?"

Having convinced herself she was going to stand and watch and learn, Bri shook her head and took a swig of her flask.

"A'right." The smell of the thing wasn't terrible, it was nothing compared to the dead, but after weeks away from the decay, it was a shock to the senses. She wouldn't gag though, in the fear Merle would have a ludicrously specific and crude comment.

With one slice of the knife, a long slit down its leathery center, she gagged and excused herself.

"Hate to see ya go, love to watch ya leave!"

Bri walked a little faster, colliding with a small figure falling from a tree.

Why her first instinct was _dead owl_ , she wasn't sure, but Cory stood, slinging off gravel and mud.

"Um. You good?"

Cory wiped his sleeve across his nose, leaving a streak of brown. "They catch a deer?" Bri affirmed. "Can I help?"

"Whatever Daryl says, goes."

"What about Merle?"

"Yeah. Listen to him, too."

Cory told her later, as he, Amy, and Bri ate by their little fire, that Merle immediately shoo'ed him off, so Cory hid for a bit in a tree; Daryl worked with clear movements which allowed Cory to see every bit of the animal's inner-workings.

"I think he knew I was watching."

They moved themselves to Bri and Amy's tent at the onset of pounding rain. Bri remembered the half-full bottle of mustard kept it in her metal crate, and spread the wealth between the three half-eaten plates. The meat was fine, but in the stormy weather, they all needed a treat.

"Room-temp mustard really teases the heartstrings." But Amy didn't complain as she dug in.

The other tent never rustled, meaning Andrea and Chrissy were either bearing watch in the storm, or more likely huddled in the RV. Lightning never struck too near, and thunder never panged too loud, but the rain persisted. Like a cat, Cory curled near Bri's feet, borrowing her Georgia State sweatshirt to keep warm.

He requested she sing the song again, about Jesse coming home, so he would be able to ignore the rain. She complied.

When he dozed off, Amy turned to Bri tearfully. "You think Glenn and T will be alright?"

Bri had no words of comfort-- what could she say? Glenn could take walkers, and T probably could, but according to the patchy C.B. radio, they were spending the night in a random house, with shelter from the storm, but nothing but baseball bats to protect themselves from other people. Shane promised the pair they would receive shooting lessons, too, when all calmed down.

Glenn and T-Dog returned the next morning unscathed, with little food, but bearing fresh clothing, blankets, and batteries; comforts which made the switch from tents to cars a smidge more bearable.

Rain fell in sheets, glass-like pinpricks which forced the camp to find a shelter and stick with it. T-Dog offered his van, pale with _Holy Cross Lutheran Church_ in red across its sides, to anyone who needed it, including Glenn, Amy, and Andrea, while Bri, Cory, and Chrissy were invited to take the back room of the RV.

By the third afternoon, with Bri, Cory, and Chrissy sitting on one twin bed, and Carl, Eliza, and Louis on the other, Bri was actively losing her Goddamn mind.

Chrissy not only took the best pillow in camp, the foam one Dale used for his back, but she refused to let anyone come near her. Damn near hissed when Eliza asked to braid her hair. Wouldn't even let Cory read the beaten-up Shirley Jackson novel over her shoulder; Cory said Chrissy hated reading, and seeing her tightly knit brows, and how slow she was to finish a page, Bri wondered if it was angst or dyslexia which slowed the process.

Not only did Cory not want to participate in games of the other trio, the group didn't seem to try to involve him anymore. They asked Bri to play Shoots and Ladders, which she did, sitting on her knees on the ratty rug. Each time she reached for the flask she left in her tent, Bri became more steadfast in the belief that she was taking one for the team. Fucking Shoots and Ladders. There was not enough vodka in the state of Georgia to deal with them any longer.

And Bri was surprised it took Chrissy two hours to tell them, "Shut the fuck up." Bri would have been impressed with Chrissy's patience and thankful for the interruption, if the swearing and the tone hadn't upset the younger kids. The second the rain let up, the Morales kids were escorted back to the church van, and while Carl spoke quietly to his mother and Shane at the dining table, Bri tried to step out for air.

Shane stopped her.

"You'll get struck down by lightning." He half-joked, her bandaged wrist in hand.

Oh, to pass out and awaken with a gnarly scar. "Promise?"

Exasperated, Shane nudged her to the booth. "Let's get those stitches out."

"Nah." Bri backed away, as much as the crowd would allow, accidentally stepping on Lori's foot. "I was threatened by Dr. Dixon."

Bri's joking tone didn't read, because Shane puffed his chest. "The hell you were."

"Daryl's gon' take 'em out." Oh! "That's where I'm goin' now." Well, really she would have taken a detour to her tent, where the little metal crate sat a quarter empty. She missed it, missed the cool rails and the clinking and swishing. She pouted. "I'll be good. Promise."

With a sigh, Shane moved to pass her an umbrella, which would be useless in those winds. She ignored it, tugging on her reclaimed sweatshirt and pulling the hood tight around her face.

He had to pop the latch for her, Bri's hands shook too much to snap and push at the same time, and a comment under Lori's breath was enough to revitalize Bri's zapped energy. With a glare and a forced smile, Bri stepped out.

It wasn't as bad as it had been, and Bri prayed they would be back in their tents the next day, after the puddles cleared up.

A mop of strawberry blonde hair popped into the window of a light yellow Jeep Cherokee. Bri met Sophia's grinning face with wave and a pathetic half-smile. A pounding on the back of the church van led Bri's gaze to Amy, who blew her a dramatic kiss out the window, eliciting Bri's first genuine laugh in days. Daryl and Merle's truck was further away from the pile of vehicles, but Bri caught Daryl's eye. Lifting her bandaged right hand in a wave and a reminder, she motioned towards the RV, like _If you come pop the stitches, Lori will take the kids out of the RV and leave me the fuck alone_. She wondered her the annoyance read through the rain.

From the tents, Bri took Cory's small backpack, dumping it out in favor of a clean shirt and underwear for each of the siblings and herself, and slid a full bottle between the cushioning. She grabbed the arthritic brace Glenn brought back for her and shouldered her own backpack, with the albums and the last of the clean blankets.

When Bri got back, Lori was funneling Carl, Chrissy, and Cory out of the RV and stepping carefully over puddles, heading to the church van. With Glenn and Amy, surely it would be like one big party. Bri hoped Sophia would be allowed to drop in; Chrissy seemed to have a soft spot for the younger girl, and maybe Sophia could get her out of her funk.

Daryl sat across from Shane in the booth, both wary of the other. Dale made himself scarce, heading to straighten the rumpled sleeping quarters. Slipping off her bags, Bri sat beside Shane as expected. He did all the work for her, unraveling the bandage and making sure the first aid kit was open and prepped.

The scattered slashes on her left hand were easily dispatched. Taking the tweezers and sewing scissors, he would lift a stitch from the skin, the snip it, and glide it out. Any brief bleeding was superficial, and Shane took care of the little dribbles with a tissue. Felt like a damn spa treatment. With lightly pattering rain, more annoying now than dangerous, she might lean her head on Shane's shoulder and pass out. He was so tender with her now, with Lori not around to gripe, enough so she was sure he wouldn't pull away if she tried something risky.

On the left hand, he replaced a few band aids over areas where she bled. Shane turned her right palm over in his hand, and Daryl made a sound of disapproval, as bad if not worse than when he first saw the hack job Shane had done.

"You got something to say?" The grip around her hand tightened.

Daryl shrugged and looked to Shane with fight in his eyes. "Gon' be fucked up forever, s'all."

From his seat, Shane huffed, his hold on her hand the only thing anchoring him from jumping across the table, "Fix her up, Dixon."

"Ain't nobody _fixin'_ nothing." But it was beneath his breath, as Daryl took the tweezers and scissors between skin and the onset of the stitch.

Bri dared a look, one she avoided taking since she first saw what Shane's haphazard stitching had done to her palm. When Daryl didn't jump to restitch the area, Bri figured it couldn't be too bad. But now, as it healed, the fresh layer of skin was red and ugly, puckered at the joining of tissue and puffy around where the skin was trying to mend itself.

"Ew." It was said aloud, rather than to herself as meant, but Shane nodded in agreement.

Daryl dropped the tweezers on a crumpled paper towel. "You gon' do it yourself?" Bri's eyes flicked up to apologize, but Daryl was staring down Shane. "Alright then." Daryl pushed himself out of the booth, causing the table to wobble and the linoleum to creak under his stomping feet.

"Shit. Asshole." Shane muttered. Once the door slammed and locked in place, he took the tweezers and began the process again, mimicking the pattern of lifting and snipping. "Sorry."

Whether it was an apology for any pain he might cause or an admission that what ever look he gave Daryl was what made the man leave, Bri wasn't sure. Instead, she tried, "You good for those lessons, now?"

"'Scuse me?"

"Shootin'. Said--"

"Yeah, I know what I said."

 _Strong words for the man who took my guns_. Jesus, he was lying, huh? Anything to calm her, keep her on his side, especially as he prepared to fight Lori about Fort Benning. 

Bri sighed and decided for the both of them. "Weather's calming down. Once Glenn's group is there and back, we'll work on it."

He'd said he could see she was trying, trying to find something, at least. A step in, well maybe not the right direction, but any direction was a good enough start for her. Shane agreed to the minor demand.

* * *

The weather didn't calm down, not for another few days. In the lulls, all tents were packed and valuables stored in car trunks and plastic bins in the RV's storage compartment. The Morales family squeezed into T-Dog's church van with him, Glenn, Amy, and Andrea. Having only his Jeep, Shane made pallets on the floor of the RV, one for him, and one for Lori and Carl. Chrissy and Cory shared a bed in the back, Dale in the other twin. Bri slept curled in the driver's seat or the booth without crusted bloodstains or on the floor between the beds in the back, on a night Cory awoke crying and asking if Bri would sing him back to sleep. Not with the RV full of others trying to sleep, she told him, but she held his hand until he slept once more.

Chrissy spent most of the day with Andrea playing cards in the church van, while Amy flipped through months-old magazines with Bri. At least Amy let Cory read over their shoulders, and as he was unfamiliar with most of the people within, Amy's detailed explanations passed time.

By the end of the week, they'd eaten through the perishables and the meager trappings brought in my the Dixons. But with hours between sprinklings of rain, the worst was over.

"Light rain don't bug animals," Daryl carried the tent posts under his arms, while Cory held the folded tarp, and trailed behind him as they went to set up the Dixons' tent. "but a storm'll do the trick."

Cory listened, rapt by anything the hunter would tell him; Carl asked Daryl questions every time he came around with carcasses, but Cory waited for him share what he was willing. The man didn't talk much outside of with his brother, but they'd all seen Daryl turn angry with a snap, so Cory tiptoed around him.

"If you want, you can teach me."

Daryl snorted, setting the posts in a clear area away from the main camp, but on higher ground than where it'd been before. "Sure you know enough. Ain't as stealthy as ya think." Seeing Cory pale, he took the tarp and gave something like a nod. "We'll see."

The possibility of a lesson assured Cory of his position in Daryl's good graces, but as soon as Merle came around shooing him off like a mosquito, Daryl's openness clamped shut. Cory set off to help Jim with his tent.

Jim brightened a bit to see Cory, and stood from nailing the last peg. "Howdy."

"Oh. You all done?" Cory knew Jim wouldn't tell him to run off, too, but as everyday, he was looking for a job.

"Yep." At Cory's frown, Jim grabbed a hold on his tool kit. "Got a truck to fix up for the run, though."

They had to strip Jacqui's little cream Crown Vic for parts. Glenn helped, too, saying some nonsense about how X, Y, and Z were all his fault, and he needed to help out more in camp. Neither Jim nor Cory were equipped with words of comfort, so they let Glenn wallow. He would be in better sprits after the next days' run anyway.

"Glenn," His name stopped him still, "it's not really important, but I have somethin' I want if you see it."

"I can keep an eye out, sure."

"Bri said you could look for _Clue_."

"Clues?"

Cory scratched his head, leaving a trail of grease. "I think it's just _Clue_. It's a board game."

"Oh. Yeah, I know it; I'll grab it if I see it. Tell Chrissy, too, she'll probably remember better than me."

"It's for her birthday, so I'm not gonna tell her--" Cory cut off his own laughter. "She tryin' to go on the run?"

Setting down his tire iron, Glenn stepped away, wouldn't look Cory in the eyes. "She's going, yeah."

"She's my sister--" He'd meant to say she was just a kid, but the family part mattered so much more. Chrissy was capable, sure she was. She put down Mom and Dad when he could barely look at them, all mangled like they were. Pitifully, he offered, "Can I just come, too?"

Glenn, still focused on the ground, shook his head. "Me and Mo and T, we'll be there to protect her. Andrea's coming, too."

If Glenn thought adding Andrea's departure too would calm him, not it effing would not.

"Who's gonna protect me and Bri, huh?!"

The word almost out of Glenn's mouth was _Shane_ , but Cory wouldn't stick around to hear it. No, he needed Chrissy, and Andrea too, to tell him like grown-ups why they were trying to leave him. Like Mom, like Dad, like Bri's family, too. They were just going to go on the supply run and what, hope Cory never noticed them gone?

Glenn followed him for a few steps, but Jim spoke real low about giving Cory a moment.

Cory caught them both laying out their packs, emptying out duffels and taking any granola bars and bladed weapons they could find. Scene of the crime. Chrissy hadn't let him see the tent after Bri's 'accident', but he wondered if all the blood would make his stomach turn like it did seeing the two of them standing there laughing about something he wasn't a part of, packing made easy since they hadn't had time to reset everything within their tent. They were so casual, like Chrissy and Andrea were about to take a girls' trip to Savannah, and not jumping back into the gut of all they escaped from by finding the camp.

This time he would ask lots of questions, he knew he would.

Instead, he left out a heave of air, and ran into Bri and Amy's tent. He wished Bri would come around soon, she wasn't good at comfort, but the singing helped him focus on something else, and he would take it, anything to not imagine Chrissy in the city getting bit by a walker or accidentally left behind somewhere.

Chrissy was behind him before he could zip the flap. Shuffling into the corner, into Bri's unmade bedroll, Cory took and gripped at the light blue Georgia State sweatshirt like he used to hold his stuffed Elmo plush. He sniveled into the collar to keep sound from spilling out. He tried to pretend Chrissy wasn't watching him fall apart; what if he looked up and she was still laughing?

"What's wrong?" She was trying to sound like Mom and it worked. Her voice was nearer to him and when Cory pulled the sweatshirt away, she was squatting by the entrance, on his level but allowing him space he didn't need.

"Nothin'."

With a sigh, Chrissy pulled herself to seated. She picked at the thin metal bar's of Bri's bottle crate. "It's not _nothin'_ if you're so upset."

"Well--" He'd meant to ask and receive answers to his planned out, logical questions. But it all bubbled over in a hiccuping mess. "You're gonna go die," A gasp, "and leave me alone with Bri to take care of me," A pull of air, "even though you said you'd never leave--"

"I'm not leaving. I'm not gonna die. Jesus," Her words were apathetic, and Cory forced himself to look at her head on, so he could find something to hold on to. Her dark brows were knit and her jaw was set. She was more annoyed than anything else. Cory took Bri's pillow into his lap and held it like an anchor as he cried into the sweatshirt. "I handled it before, and with a fuckload of people, I'll be able to handle it even better. Do you think I'm stupid? Don't you trust me?"

It felt like how Mom acted until a few years before, until she insisted on family bonding and holding hands and making decisions together. He choked out a breath, trying to think through the hoops Chrissy set before him. "I--?" Contorted with emotion, he kept his face hidden. Mom always said to be honest. "I'm really scared."

She laughed, dry and empty. "You don't trust me."

 _That's not what I meant?_ "I do, I just don't--"

"Great, thought I had _someone_ on my side that I could count on. Well..." Chrissy threw her hands in defeat. He thought her voice broke, but he couldn't tell as she left. Sniffles carried her out, her's or his, he didn't know.

It left the tent feeling so much bigger, expanding around his lone figure.

Bri and Amy didn't crawl in until hours later, after babysitting on Shane's request. In the time between, Cory had been hungry, and admittedly dug around in Bri's bag, stopping his search when he found the first photo album. It was well-loved, decorated with duct tape and ribbons. Inside were pictures of a younger, middle school-aged Bri and a boy Cory knew to be her brother, _Benny_ read the front cover. In the pictures he was around as old as Bri was now. When not pictured with her, Benny was often at the side of an older guy with a long grey and brown beard, each holding up a peace sign. Lots of guys were wearing dresses and makeup, including Benny, but thinking of what Nana used to say about people _like that_ , Cory was confused. Like the picture of him and Chrissy running in the field, every image of Bri's brother and the guy with the beard and every person dancing and singing or hugging and laughing looked like the happiest they had ever been.

The best picture, Cory's favorite, was of Bri alone, grinning ear-to-ear on stage with the caption _First Place Junior_ _Performance_. Her hair and her white dress red and blue and purple beneath strobe lights. Cory figure he trophy was from Party City, and whatever it used to say was replaced by _Bri!_ in Sharpie. So happy. Bri wasn't happy when she was drunk, and if anything, it was keeping her from being able to be this way again. As much as he wanted this sort of happiness, maybe she deserved the feeling more.

He fell asleep looking at every detail, only stirring when he felt the cool dampness of a wet-wipe across his face.

"Jim had kids, you'd think he'd remind him to wash up." Amy's voice was muffled by Bri's immediate presence.

Bri shushed her, but Cory kept his eyes squeezed shut. She kissed the newly-cleaned surface with a small, knowing, "Good night, Cory." If he wasn't so drained, and maybe if Amy wasn't so near, he would try to tell Bri about Chrissy. Instead he curled into Bri's side, and moved the blankets to cover them both.

* * *

Amy woke early to see Andrea off. She nudged Bri to consciousness, but Bri wasn't equipped to say goodbye, not with the implications of such words. Instead, Bri slipped back to sleep until Amy brought their breakfast, plates of venison. "Daryl was heading out this morning, too, since Merle's on the run."

"Imagine a car ride with Merle." Bri bit into her forkful, with focus on getting used to being ambidextrous. It would help with being versatile with weapons since her right hand wasn't trustworthy.

"I'd rather walk."

Cory kept to himself in the corner, flipping through the pages; Bri woke up to his nervous admission of snooping, she'd nodded that it was fine for him to continue. He asked as the girls fell silent, "Did you make sure Chrissy had her knife?"

 _Fucking excuse me?_ Bri dropped her fork. "The fuck do you mean _Did Chrissy have her knife?_ Why the fuck would she need it?" Oh, she knew. Bitch was on her way to Atlanta. Bri threw off her covers and reached for her flask.

His eyes filled to the brim, and Amy intervened, setting down her own plate and placing Bri's on the side. "I thought you knew she--"

Bri's gut twisted even deeper to find her flask empty. She prepared to refill it, regardless of the child in the tent.

"Bri--"

"Who the fuck's call was that?" Bri wondered aloud, barely capping her flask and sliding into her shoes. She fumbled with the zipper while Cory cried behind her, as Amy tried to cool the situation off. Once Bri was out of the tent, Amy gave up and focused on consoling a sobbing Cory.

Shane, Lori, and Carl ate their own breakfast on logs beside their tents, an idyllic scene beneath the rising sun and post-rain breeze. Bri was fully prepared to ruin it. 

Bri spoke before Lori could see her and give a side-eye. "You said it yourself, Shane, I'm dumb and useless-- but what kick do you get sending _Chrissy_ back into the city? _Chrissy_ before Jim or me or Amy."

Shane sighed and stood, hand on Bri's back as he pulled her to the perimeter away from prying ears. "Bri--"

"Oh, so it's another conspiracy, somethin' else you don't wanna talk to _Lori_ about?"

"You're gon' watch yourself." Shane bit his tongue and chose careful words. "Now, I had nothin' to do with who went, but if I'd known--" he gestured between the two of them, "it would have been a larger discussion--"

"No, wouldn't've been a discussion, it would've been a statement, as in, _No kids in the city_ \--"

"Glenn radioed twenty minutes out. Said she lied about askin' permission."

Fat chance she ever planned on asking Bri. Cory knew. Shit, Andrea on was the run, too, and Glenn. The both of them should have known better than to take Chrissy's word, especially with the tension between her and Bri. Her jaw ground so tight that when she opened it to speak, it felt like bear trap unhinging. "But they didn't turn around when they found out, neither, huh."

"No. Finally got a dry spell, we're roughin' it out here. You understand, I know you do."

"'Course I fucking get it. _I feel you_." Bri mocked. Chrissy was past the sphere of Bri's protection, now, no matter how pitiful such protection may be. "But she's a terrible fucking liar."

Hands on hips, he half-laughed, both acknowledging the truth in her words, and trying to keep an even temper. "Glenn might be scared of her."

"Yeah." Clamping her shaking fists, Bri willed herself to calm. "I think her mom was a lawyer or something." She lifted her flask and began to unscrew the cap.

"Makes sense, then." Shane spoke with less bite and more pity. He took the flask from her hand. "You gonna handle this?"

Handle the exacerbation of Cory's mourning process if his sister dies? Or will she, in general, try to not freak the fuck out because something didn't go as expected?

She focused on Shane's hand there, forcing herself to feel his fingertips and the callouses of his palm on her shoulder. The here. The now. "I take what I get. Whatever that ends up being."

Shane's next shift of position indicated closer contact, like a hug might be coming her way, and she dodged it, stepping backwards. She needed to save what little emotional energy she had for apologizing to Cory. God knew the boy didn't need anymore bombshells, didn't need anyone else to abandon him.

But Shane didn't hug her, only switched one hand for the other, turning Bri's body towards camp. By his own tent, he didn't let go, and didn't stop as Lori called out for him. With her flask confiscated, he parked Bri beside Sophia and Eliza, where they sat playing dolls outside the Morales' tent. The message was clear; sit down, sober up, sing the little children into pacification.

The girls were good enough for her. They were both at or around ten, begging once more the question of a babysitter's necessity, but they were kind and quiet when they realized Bri wasn't going to give into their fantasy worlds. When Amy came around, Bri stalked off to crack open a new bottle, and was unsurprised to see Cory's short form was slinking away towards the RV when she approached him, keeping himself small in stature and frowning when he met Bri's eyes. So she kept walking.

Despite having slept fine the night before, Bri hunkered down with the bottle. _I told you I was trouble. You know that I'm no good._

* * *

Chrissy'd off-handedly spat out that where she was was, quote, _None of Bri McAllen's fucking business_ , only realizing the weight of the turn of phrase as she took in the looks of horror through the rearview mirrors.

After Chrissy's revelation, the silence in the van was liable to be cut by a knife. But Merle's rasp worked well enough.

"Well, _Chris_ ," Merle enunciated her name with purpose, having learned it moments before, "I say you have got a huge-ginormous lady sack."

 _You_ say _an awful lot_. Chrissy kept her eyes on the road before them, keeping track of their route as residential streets faded into the outskirts of the downtown of the city. It was the same road, she realized, Glenn had used to bring them to the quarry.

"Bri don't seem like God's gift to womankind or nothin', but," continued Merle, staring down the younger girl and waiting for her to retort, "don't seem like skippin' out on her was too nice a move."

He said what everyone else was on every other mind, but it didn't need to be reiterated. Not to Jacqui and Andrea, whose sighs cut through the jabbering and the whirring A/C. Not to Morales or T, who were both in favor of turning around and hauling her ass back to camp. And definitely not to Glenn, whose skin was sheet-white and clammy, as was his increasingly tightened grip on the steering wheel.

Glenn's first proposition after her blabbing on herself, was that Chrissy and maybe two others could get dropped off in a small neighborhood and start searching for supplies there. But with really only Chrissy, T-Dog, and Morales at all skilled in hand-to-hand combat, the idea was scraped. Apparently T and Glenn had more trouble on their duo run than they let on to Shane, and they wanted to avoid whatever situation they'd been in. Safety in numbers, Glenn said, resolved until Merle told them the proposed plans for scavenging were fucking stupid and so was everyone in the van, and proceeded on a thankless rant in which he gave no possible alternatives. Glenn wiped his forehead on his sleeve; the older man scratched heavily upon each nerve.

"Leave'em alone, Dixon." Jacqui finally spoke up.

Slurs flew from Merle's trap. Jacqui defended herself, as T and Morales backed her up; Andrea used the lawyer voice, the _let's be civil_ voice with which Chrissy was so familiar. Beside Chrissy, Glenn was tearful, with a slight quiver in his lip. _He thinks it's all his fault; the weather, the shortage, racist rednecks, escape artists, all of it_.

"Y'got the list, still?" The commotion roared around them, but Glenn heard her stinging voice through it all and nodded confirmation. Chrissy had one of her own, more geared towards her and Andrea's camp's needs, but of course, anything they found would be helpful. "Bri's map?"

"In my bag." He motioned to the bag at Chrissy's feet, and she unzipped the front pocket.

With a pen, she found and followed the side road they were on. "Maybe we should stop by some houses, all of us together. Better than diggin' around stores that are already picked through."

"Maybe." Glenn worried his lip, hunching over the wheel as if the inch of added distance would quiet Merle's ranting. "There's a department store, though, a few blocks from where I found you guys. Not too far into the city. It was locked tight when we checked it out."

"Y'had an extra good-Goddamned week to get ready. Thought someone like you'd be bet--" The brakes slammed, lurching everyone in the cab forward. Being the only two with seatbelts, Glenn and Chrissy were less fazed, though Chrissy looked to the driver in confusion.

Glenn started, "Look, I'm all for suggestions. I can obviously use some, but..."

Chrissy turned in the passenger's seat to stare the issue down, sending daggers. She finished Glenn's thought, not nearly as kind as he might have stated it; she told Merle, "Shut the fuck up."

He laughed, a high-pitched hyena-like laugh. Even as Glenn gathered himself and drove once more, raucous laughter pinged from window to window. Already cramped in the van, each person seemed to shrink into themselves. Chrissy would have preferred to stay in the tight-lipped silence of disappointment.

* * *

Hours later, Amy found Bri passed out with the bottle poured half-out across her lap. She removed the cover's from her friend's lap, and rubbed Bri's leg as she murmured for her to wake up, in the soft implorations usually reserved for Cory or the other children.

"Dude..." Once Bri's eyes cleared and she felt the cold against her stomach, she choked out a small sob. "Fuck-- I'm already runnin' out, I--"

Amy's light touch laid upon Bri's shoulders, easing her to a sitting position. The blonde lifted the bottle and made a show of capping it and storing its remainder in the half-empty crate. Bri ran her shaking fingers through her hair, combing sweat-laden locks back into a ponytail. In the big red backpack, Amy found a spare forest green tank top and black shorts. She tossed them to her friend, but Bri made no move towards them.

Amy prayed Bri would budge. God, she didn't know what would coax Bri out of the tent. Not after the morning's outburst, and not after her and Chrissy's companionship had fallen apart within a matter of days. "C'mon. Miranda's doing a history lesson, so we're off the hook today. I'm going fishing, cause, you know, Daryl won't be back, and who knows when Glenn'll--"

Beside Amy, Bri looked on the verge of tears. "I'm all fine right here."

"Bri..." Amy retrieved the half-empty bottle against her better judgement. "International waters, right?" The stupid little statement took Bri out of her own head and into the present. She met the blonde's eyes with a sniff. Amy sighed, contentedly so.

As Amy prompted her to raise her arms and lift her hips, so she could change her friend into dry clothing, Bri didn't help much. She didn't adjust the straps or pull the shorts higher up her hips like she usually would; she wasn't conscious about her appearance like Amy noticed before. Bri's typical outfit was form-fitted to her wide hips and long torso, and always seemed to be tucked in a way which showed off her assets. Never alluring, not on purpose, but Glenn definitely noticed. Shane, too, absolutely, with all the attention he gave her. On Bri's second night in camp, the first time she ate dinner with the group, Amy followed plenty of eyes to Bri's chest. No one was as bad as Merle Dixon, and no one ever made an inappropriate advance that she knew of, but it made Amy more protective over the younger girl. She wanted to shield her from the worst of men and keep her away from prying eyes. At the very least, until Bri was sober and could make her own decisions about the attention.

But the little things Bri did: going braless, sticking out her hips when she walked or when she stopped to take a swig from her flask, they all seemed showy in an unconscious way. It wasn't until Andrea sat her down and told Amy to listen more than speak that Amy's observation skills leveled up. Bri was a girl of few substantial words. When there was nothing to listen to, there was only someone to watch. Blue eyes too heavy with something like sorrow, something weighing them downwards and drifting them off course. No activity could keep Bri's attention forever, but a smudge of mud on the tent flap would do the trick. A star in the sky. A disturbance in the gravel path. In every empty glance, Amy could see flashes. Something being relived, experiences flooding back. Bri rarely cried or so much as told anyone what she felt, and Amy didn't understand it. Why keep it all in? Everyone's gone through something bad, so why not share it?

Amy had run plenty of questions by Andrea, but most had been shot down as too personal or derisive. But Amy didn't want Andrea's opinions involving Bri, just wanted to know if they were good questions. Amy knew Andrea did not want the situation to be exacerbated, lest Bri hurt herself again, or God forbid, someone else. Big fucking issue was: Andrea had too much input and not enough empathy.

So this was Amy's conclusion. Bring Bri to the boat. Ask her the questions she needed to ask. Maybe get decked? Bri held herself sluggishly, but her appearance and vocality were scrappy and just daring someone to interfere with her. And she once threatened to punch Chrissy, a fourteen-year-old. So there might be some yet untapped violent streak.

So, even drunker than she'd been the last time Amy dragged her to the docks, Bri settled into the boat, already pale green with motion sickness, holding the bait box like a lifeline.

"You remember I suck at this, right?"

"Yeah." Amy rowed to a more opportune location in the deeper waters. "But I need a first mate."

It was childish, but Bri half-smiled, with her eyes still glassy and half-glazed with tears or drunkenness.

When Amy took the bait box and prepared the line, Bri took one of the wicker baskets in its place, clutching it like she might throw up. _A good a time as any,_ _now that she's not holding the sharps_.

"Bri." A hum from the head hunched over the basket. "When we first came out here fishing, I asked you about your brothers, right?"

The snort from Bri was was stifled and indignant. Amy tapped a nerve with no more than a statement, and with her newfound hypersensitivity, she tried to walk on eggshells.

"I don't think I heard you. I don't think I was really listening." Amy was too busy wallowing in self-pity. She remembered saying something about family not leaving family behind, because it's how it always worked for the Harrisons. How presumptuous of her to not take in Bri's words when they were actually offered to her. She tacked on, "What's said in the boat, stays in the boat."

Bri sighed. She dug by her feet for the bottle, seeming to ignore Amy's words. Of course she wouldn't want to talk about it all of a sudden. Amy retreated into herself, focused intently on the fishing rod as if she couldn't fish while asleep. Bri's voice startled her.

"Mack and Reid. Step-brothers. Left with Mom and Dad. Dad told me I was in charge of the house--"

Amy couldn't help but cut in. "You call your step-mom Mom?"

After a pause, Bri admitted, "Yeah. Most of the time, why?"

"You don't have a mom?"

"Tam was good as one, I think. Better than not having one at all." Bri swigged. She moved positions, crossing her legs and curling into a ball around the basket. With the clipped words and defensive actions, Amy knew that was all she would get out of Bri.

Amy prepared to apologize for overstepping as the line dipped with some small weight. She looked away to focus on the fish.

After clearing her throat, the words were more purposeful and collected. "I started my period like two days before I met her." A sniff. Amy abandoned the fish to listen like she promised to. "And Dad brought her around for dinner to get approval. Which was probably more for show than anything else. Benny was out of the house by then. Longest I'd ever go without seein' him, like six or seven months with no contact. Pretty sure he was somewhere northwards with our mom. Doing, I don't know, whatever drug addicts do." Bri cut herself off. Focusing so hard, Amy saw Bri's eyes narrow to her bottle and the gears begin to whir.

"And Tam?" Amy drew her back.

"Oh." Bri raised her brows, even met Amy's blue-green eyes to acknowledge that she was present again. "She used the bathroom. Saw all the bloody toilet paper in the trash can. I was like ten, I guess? We didn't have the talk in school for another few months. She was so sweet. So I vouched for her when Dad asked me what I thought about them getting married."

"I knew she had sons, but she talked about them like they were young. I was eleven by then. I was ready for little siblings. But Mack was in high school. Reid was like, twenty-four, and Dad let him rent out the basement. At least he let me clear out Ben's things first." She let out a sour chuckle. She sipped again, carefully choosing what to share.

Amy formulated worst-care scenarios from the wooden plank beside her. In little fragments, Bri's life appeared before her.

"Benny didn't come to the wedding, but he showed up that summer, wonderin' where his room was. He was nineteenish. Dad gives him a week and expects him to go make his own way, and Benny was too proud to beg. So week's through and he's like, " _Alright, Bri, you comin'?_ " And I'm thinkin' what the fuck does he mean? And Dad kicks him out for good. Reid says somethin' 'bout how glad he is that that queer’s out of the house now. And nobody says nothin' else."

 _Mack and Reid. Left with Mom and Dad._ Where was Benny?

"I thought my mom was gonna clean up for awhile, 'cause she and Benny got a place in the city together. He got a job, a boyfriend, and a car, and Dad let him pick me up and drop me off at school every day." Bri's lip quivered.

"When Reid got engaged and moved out, Tam softened up to Ben. Convinced Dad. He took the basement again." Bri's tremoring hand found Amy's. _No_ _hesitation_ , Amy noticed. "I thought it was gonna work out." Who was Bri trying to be brave for? Amy of all people would not judge tears, but still Bri tried to sniff them away, even as her voice broke and the dams unwillingly burst.

"First time he tried to kill himself, I found him. And once we knew he'd make it, Dad kicked him out, 'stead of callin' my mom, or worryin' about his hospital stuff. Reid's wedding was gonna be soon and Mack had busted his knees and gotten kicked from the team. Bigger fuckin' fish, right?" A big sniff, warbled beneath tear tracks. "Then Tam gets sick and turns out it's cancer."

"Oh, no." Amy sobbed, gripping onto Bri's hands. Bri didn't let them go, but didn't meet Amy's eyes any longer.

"Tam was fine within the year. Reid had a son. Mack was fine. I was fine. Ben got worse. A few years, and I'm a freshman in high school. I get the call. He did it. His boyfriend found him bleedin' out. Shared his last moments. Said he loved me the most." Bri hid behind her hands. "I don't know if I believe that."

Whether she didn't believe it was the truth or didn't believe it happened, God, it didn't matter to Amy. She wanted to say he was a fucking coward for leaving Bri alone, but Amy didn't know how Bri would receive such a comment. Instead, Amy snaked her arms around her friend.

Quickly and quietly, with nothing explained further, Bri said low and incredulously, "I paid for his grave."

Amy forsaked her overactive imagination. It's not like Bri was the kind girl who would make friendship bracelets in a crisis. The worst kind of thought flashed before her, but she shook it off. Amy didn't want to know the answer. She wouldn't assume if it wasn't offered to her. _Not a funeral, just the grave._ Did the boyfriend help? Her family certainly didn't. Had Bri been drinking since?

Amy, arms tightening around Bri, said, "I'm so so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Though Bri didn't need the pity, and Amy was shocked she didn't pull away. Bri nestled into her chest. They sat.

The commotion of Carol carrying a tote of laundry, with Sophia and Eliza chattering behind her, drew them apart. Carol and the girls waved; Amy could fake enthusiasm better than her counterpart.

Bri wiped away snot. "Thank you." Then she turned back to her bottle, and wouldn't meet Amy's eyes.

Seeing Bri, now calmed, looking increasingly apologetic and anxious, Amy changed the subject. "We scared away the fish."

Paddling further out allowed them-- well, _them_ was a kindness, Amy fished while Bri dried her tears and stared off-- to catch some catfish and some trout, and one fat ass bass Amy was particularly proud of. Finished with the laundry, the girls were happy to carry the catch to the community pot. Amy took the clean laundry from Carol, so the older woman could prep for dinner.

"These are for Jim's line, the one by him and Theodore's tents." Carol thanked the pair and fell in step with Bri, trailing behind Amy.

"You seem to be healing up."

Amy wasn't sure she'd ever seen Bri speak to Carol. Shit, Amy hadn't even managed to ask about the incident while they were in the boat. And she was not certain she would ever convince Bri to join her there again.

"Between Shane and Daryl, we figured the cosmetic stuff out. Jus' don't know how the inside's faring."

"I'm no nurse," Carol hesistated, "but I can check you over."

Carol. Why hadn't Carol helped Bri in the first place? No offense to the Peletiers, but Carol and Sophia probably had the most E.R. visits in camp between the two of them, and everyone knew it.

Carol added with an uncharacteristically cheeky tone, "Unless Shane's been checkin' you over, too."

Amy stilled, jaw dropped to the gravel path. "Carol!"

Bri's eyes betrayed no confirmation or denial, only glee. "He's no doctor, but..."

Amy held Bri's shoulder in half-horror, half-hysterics, "What does _that_ mean?" No, wait, was Bri actually serious?

"Ah!- No, no, I'm literally kidding--" Bri ducked her head, but couldn't wave them off as she tried, and they bombarded her with questions as they were well-deserving to. Arriving back to the main camp did nothing to help, and Shane sauntered over to the trio.

"Ladies--" He cocked his head, motioning towards the RV. "Bri."

If Carol hadn't nudged her away from the scene, Amy would have stood there staring for another lifetime. So, she hadn't made it up. Shane was sticking it to Bri. Bri was actually getting some. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Amy and Carol walked away ever so slowly, staying within earshot for as long as possible.

"They radioed in, they're safe in a department store, they're gonna shack up there for the night."

Not juicy sex-type things like Amy was waiting for, but good news for Andrea, and Chrissy, too.

Shane's hand found Bri's shoulder, and spoke low.

"Wait a second--" Hunching over the fish, sorting them between baskets, Carol didn't see the contact. Amy kicked some gravel to draw her attention.

Carol smirked. "Lucky bitch."

But when Bri left the RV steps, she was no longer smiling, the brief bought of laughter faded and forgotten about.

Amy cut off Bri's trudge to their tent. "She'll be good. They both will."

Bri shoved past. The connection was cut like satellites in a thunderstorm.

* * *

Breakfast was the fish Bri didn't eat the night before. Apparently, Amy yelled at Ed with enough conviction that he backed off from taking the extras. Andrea's lessons in persuasion must do Amy well.

"Mornin', Bri." Shane slowed his walk coming up beside her, where she stood trying to decide where to eat breakfast. Bri couldn't muster a glare, and said nothing. "No news is good news?" It felt mocking to her, the way he phrased the fact that T-Dog hadn't made a morning check-in, as he did every morning. Bri decided the radio's batteries must have died. Shane let her be.

Bri's choices of companionship were Dale, who was bound to have a slew of hypothetical situations to ask her expertise upon; the kids, near to where Jim and Cory near silently tinkered on Jacqui's stripped Crown Vic; or Amy.

Bri partially remebered spilling her guts for Amy to sort through, but when Bri woke in the morning, the whispering, watery voice in the back of her head had her half-convinced she was misremembering something had happened, or that she was making it up altogether.

The small, pitiful smile Amy gave confirmed Bri said something. Cue internal screaming.

Except Amy didn't speak about it, just said her morning greeting. Which unnerved Bri even more. Amy left to collect firewood, which was her way of filling time until updates came, and was Bri alone on a log. She had no appetite, not with her thoughts so churned. What the fuck did she tell Amy? What possessed her to think it was okay to get a drunk girl to share her personal business, or anyone in such a filterless state? Long ago, Bri gave up guilt over day-drinking, but she left her retrieved flask in her sweatshirt pocket, which she tossed in the laundry pile when she woke up.

"Hello. Hello. Can anybody hear my voice?"

The C.B. radio whirred. Amy jumped to it.

She spoke with succint, hopeful words as a crisp Southern drawl came through on the soft breeze. Amy wasn't patching through to him. "We're just outside the city--"

Shane took over, and unsuccessfuly tried to warn the stranger against entering the city.

"He's gone."

"There are others." Lori seemed hopeful. "It's not just us."

Bri hadn't encountered others, but Glenn had caught wind of gangs in Atlanta; who was to say this wasn't an ill-willed survivor from outside the city limits?

"We knew there would be. That's why we left the C.B. on."

"A lotta good it's been doing."

"Okay--"

"And I've been saying for a week we oughta put signs up on 85 and warn people away from the city." Lori spoke a soft reminder to the officer, though it was the first Bri had heard of the suggestion. Shit, a sign on 85 would not have kept Bri from making the trek, but anyone with precious cargo would most certainly appreciate the warning.

“Folks got no idea what they’re getting into.” Amy’s thin fingers fiddled with the knobs of the radio for a few moments more, before she gave up.

Shane stood, words on the defensive. “Well, we haven’t had time.”

Lori intervened, “I think we need to make time.”

“Yeah, that-- that’s a luxury we can’t afford. We are surviving here, we are day to day.” He became emotional, riding an undercurrent of guilt. Oh, what was it that he whispered to Bri the day before, what ruined her state of reflection and borderline hope-- _We need to think about the worst-case scenarios_. Of course he was right. And of course he meant by way of Chrissy not coming back. But it burned Bri's chest that he thought it was necessary to verbalize, and she could only half-listen to his plea.

Dale asked Lori in defeat, “And who the hell would you propose we send?"

Bri stood, stretching her legs, as Lori spoke with determination. "I'll go. Give me a vehicle."

The veins popped in Shane's neck, but Bri spoke before he could turn the discussion further down the road of a lover's tiff. Shifting from foot to foot, she offered, "I'll go. I can drive, I know the major exits, 'specially out towards 85."

He shut her down with more vehemence than he had for Lori. "Hell'd we talk about?"

"What, no runs? This count as a run? We'll add markers and poster board to the next supply list. Could save lives." She appealed to his savior complex, growing apparent to her the more she paid attention to his actions.

He sighed with a look indicating the two of them would be speaking later. Bri gave a sarcastic smile, brows high.

Upon turning to ask Lori about her plans for the signs, if there were any, Bri found the mother looking at her with a hesitant, if not thankful smile. Before Bri could speak, Lori retreated to her tent, with Shane trailing not far behind.

Amy looked at Bri, wiggling her eyebrows. "Y'all are so _weird_."

After rolling her eyes incredulously, Bri returned to her half-eaten breakfast. The newest rumor was that Shane and Bri were hooking up. As if Lori wasn't right there? Was Bri the one perceptive member of the camp? Or was she the only one with time enough to pay attention?

As a vulgar retort settled on Bri's tongue, Carl plopped down beside her. "Can I help make the posters?"

Amy was quick, "When you're done with your chores, you and the kids can make some mock-up designs and we'll pick the best one."

Bri chewed a bite, and spoke through it, "Yeah, _Battle Royale_ it out."

"What does the winner get?" Carl grinned.

"Candy from the next run." As intended, Bri short tone sent Carl scurrying away to find Sophia and the others.

Amy laughed her bell-like, perfect, rom-com lead laugh which was unfortunately becoming so endearing to Bri. But Bri _was_ still mad at her. "I know you _hate_ the little brats," Amy exaggerated, "but you're almost good with them." Bri's mouth gaped. "Like, you see that they want respect and responsibility without added pressure. You're not maternal or anything," Bri's stomach dropped at the words, and she must have made a face, but Amy continued quickly, "like, you'd be a good coach or a teacher." Amy added, as what seemed to be meant as a joke, "Maybe not like a counselor or anything, though."

Bri ignored her comment. "I don't know. I'm trying to humor them, I guess. What else is there to do?" A rhetorical question. Bri stood, ready to make her exit; Amy hadn't said anything about the day before, and Bri prayed she would keep the streak.

Amy held out her hand. "Nothin' much. But we can brainstorm in the boat--" Bri groaned, _Oh, fuck no_. "--and figure out how to apologize to Lori and them. For your undesirable behavior. Get you somehow back on track."

Amy never said anything about what Bri told her. Bri had the sneaking suspicion she was waiting for Andrea's input on the subject of Bri's mess, but on the other side of the coin was the thought that maybe Amy was waiting for Bri to bring it up first. She seemed anxious, after all, to say more than what was articulated through lessons on bait and bass; though Bri could attribute both of their shaking hands to missing their respective people. Bri avoided thinking of how helpful the little flask would be, as she prepared to sit and stare at the water for the next few hours.

Thoughts of Chrissy and Andrea subsided for the time being. It was just them on the water shooting the shit, considering the grand gestures they could do for Lori and Miranda; Bri even committed to participating in whatever came up, instead of letting Amy do the leg work. She agreed to begin working towards a clean slate. When Bri got back to camp, she would show Cory the basket of fish she caught on her own, and ask him to help her gut them. And once Chrissy came back, Bri would start anew with her as well. With the assumption Chrissy wouldn't deck her for asking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs included:  
>  _You Know That I'm No Good_ by Amy Winehouse
> 
> my two biggest Mehs (and rly my only :/s because im v excited for canon events to start!!) is im v iffy on Shane's characterization overall, but every time i go back and reread his scenes w Bri i always like how they've turned out so Idk. i'm just gonna let it play out. especially because i'm pro-"Did what he *thought* he had to do" Shane rather than pro-"Bad guy villain evil" Shane. so. and i also hope Cory's dialogue and narration feels natural enough. i edit his stuff a Lot to make sure it flows like I want, but idk. not sure!! much love y'all.


	6. Guts

Chrissy's jaw was set, and her knees bounced against a metal table, its rattle being the only sound in the nervous, pin-drop silence. Jacqui reached out to soothe her, and Chrissy flinched, raising her knife instinctively.

"Watch it, Chris," T-Dog cautioned, adjusting his helmet, "last thing Glenn needs is to come back to a crime scene."

No, Chrissy wouldn't wish such a horror on Glenn and his good-nature. And though she did want to give him a few choice words for abandoning them to save some cop from a tank, she had no leverage and she knew it. Even if she wouldn't be admitting it any time soon.

Chrissy mumbled a small, "Sorry." 

Jacqui nodded her understanding, and motioned behind them. "Check those back closests."

They already searched the office areas, and dug through the racks for any pratical clothing. Morales and Andrea were at their own table, twindling their thumbs. _Yeah, give the kid some busy work_.

The closets didn’t seem big enough to house any threats, but she was better safe than sorry. Knife raised with its handle resting on her sternum, she twisted the knob.

Nothing but a dead opossum, at which she dry-heaved and waved away Jacqui’s concerns.

The second door opened to a relatively untapped stash; if someone was there before them, they were kinder than Chrissy would be. Scattered boxes of ramen packages, crackers, plasticware, and cases of bottled water stacked at her feet. And when she opened one of several small tin boxes, she found what she could only assume was, as Dad had called it, the Devil's lettuce. She slipped them in the front pouch of her bag.

There was a bottle of vodka, too, on the top shelf. She could bring it back to Bri as an apology-- though technically the only person she didn't lie to was Bri-- and as a dampener for the ass-beating she was bound to receive upon their return. Or would the gift be a sort of enabling? Chrissy stopped paying attention to Bri out of anger, and before leaving on the run, she honestly did not know Bri's state of mind. If someone asked what made Chrissy so angry in the first place, she wouldn't have an answer. Uncle B was present in her mind because of Bri's habits, but maybe that wasn't the worst thing. She could deal with Bri, thinking of how her mom dealt with him. Chrissy couldn't remember what Bri did. She figured Bri didn't knew either.

Chrissy grabbed the bottle. "Andrea."

Despite having the same anxious buzz as the rest of them, Andrea's eyes brightened. Stepping over their bags, she checked out the stash. "Wow, you did good." Chrissy extended the bottle. "Bribery?"

"It's for you. For havin' my back."

Andrea hummed her thanks. "I get it. I get you. You want to do for Cory what I want to do for Amy. I respect that."

 _Respect_. Chrissy wasn't sure she'd ever gotten it before.

They packed the supplies with small smiles of understanding, content in their mutality, until Glenn radioed in. He was on his way back with a guest. The fucking cop.

From the doorway, Mo and T counted to ten before busting out into the alley to clear the way for Glenn. Chrissy and Jacqui watched the door, and held it open as Glenn and a tall white guy ran in.

Chrissy pulled the door shut and latched it once Morales and T-Dog reentered, shedding their riot gear.

Andrea was yet to share in their relief. Her gun to the stranger's face, she bit out, "You son of a bitch, we ought to kill you."

A chorus of _Jesus, Andrea_ s and _Back offs_ rang out at the group gathered their packs near the exit. Chrissy couldn't imagine Andrea would go as far as to kill this guy, but Glenn's detour cost time they didn't have; there was no reason to trust so soon.

Morales managed to convinced Andrea to stand down, which she did with a choked sob. "We're dead, all of us, because of you."

"I don't understand."

Chrissy examined the man's tan, clean-pressed deputy's uniform, with no more than speckles of dirt and fresh blood smattering the starched linen. With glazed, pleading eyes, the stranger was clueless. Had he been in a fucking fallout shelter the past two months? His eyes darted from each sour face, landing on Chrissy, who scowled back from over Andrea's shoulder.

When he cocked his head in some appeal for answers, Chrissy mouthed, _What_ _?_

"Look," Morales grabbed the man’s arm and led the group onto the main sales floor. "We came into the city to scavenge supplies. You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving! You know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out, tiptoeing, not shooting up the streets like it's the O.K. Corral."

"Every geek for miles around heard you poppin’ off rounds." said T-Dog while taking a headcount.

Morales motioned to the mess the man had made, the riled walkers slamming their rotting fingers against the glass with such great pressure it would soon burst.

Andrea paled. "You just rang the dinner bell."

"Get the picture now?"

They retreated to the back stairwell, distancing themselves from the crowd of walkers. The man told them he was walking the streets trying to flag a helicopter. At the protestations and disbelief, he was vehement in what he saw.

Morales ignored the cop. "Hey, T-Dog, try that C.B. Can you contact the others?"

They hadn't been able to patch through for a morning check-in, but Glenn promised they weren't too far out of the signal's range. She didn't stop to think about what the lack of response could imply; she wouldn't allow herself to.

"Others? The refugee center?" The man questioned. Andrea and Chrissy scoffed.

Jacqui stared with a heavy dose of _Bless your heart_ , "Yeah, the refugee center. They've got biscuits waiting at the oven for us."

At his slack-jawed naivety, Chrissy snapped. "No one's out there, dude."

His face fell.

"Got no signal. Maybe the roof?" T-Dog huffed in frustration. As if summoned, the shots from Merle's rifle pinged into the streets, amplifying the walkers' anger, and sending the group into another layer of panic.

Up the stairwell, and onto the roof, they found him engaged in a one-sided shootout with the walkers below.

It all happened rapid-fire: Merle jumping from the ledge to greet them with his hyena-grin and Morales pleading to some common sense they all knew Merle didn't possess; T-Dog intervening; T-Dog half in a pulp on the concrete, spit upon.

Time caught up with itself as Merle established, "Democracy time--"

Glenn and Andrea propped T-Dog up on the roof's railing; Chrissy opened her bag in search of the medical kit, fully stocked and available. They would have forgotten it, if not for Andrea's remembering it last-minute. Jacqui toweled off T-Dog's bleeding forehead.

Merle held his pistol high. "--Now that means I'm the boss, right?"

The faces surrounding Chrissy were frought with anger, fright, and disgust, but she tucked herself away and worked, as she'd seen the man's own brother do weeks prior.

The stranger took the butt of Merle's discarded rifle to its owner's face, and sent him to the ground. He handcuffed him to the pipe, well deserved.

"Who the hell are you, man?!"

"Officer Friendly."

If he spoke any further, Chrissy didn't hear. T-Dog's wounds encompassed a heavily bruised stomach-- internal bleeding would be something to fear, right? Like Bri's sliced palms, this would be progress to follow once they returned to camp. The skinned goose-egg on his forehead would be more managable.

"It'll sting--" Chrissy pressed in a gauze pad soaked in alcohol; the injury was from his head meeting a rusted pipe, and though she knew there was a shot for wounds involving metal, she couldn't remember the name.

T laughed up at her, then clutched his stomach. "Damn, didn't give me a chance to brace myself."

"Poor baby." There was little pity in her words. She hadn't forgotten how he was the first one to try and convince Glenn to turn the van around back into the hills. Andrea talked him to his senses, but Chrissy felt betrayed in a way. To distract him, as she wiped the angry and puckered welt, Chrissy said, "I found some weed."

The way he rolled his eyes made her think he didn't believe her. "What do you know about all that?"

"Nothin'. Just know what it looks like. It works from a, like, medical standpoint, huh? And it's not like Bri'd want it, so..."

"Nah. Like to keep a clear head." Taking the C.B. from his pocket, and sighing to see it unscathed, he fiddled with the knobs. "As much as I like how Glenn is on his toes... might calm him down when we get back."

Chrissy's lying had not helped Glenn's nerves one bit-- and while a large part of her thought, _What did he think was gonna happen?_ , another more sympathetic part began to feel bad for treating him like she did.

For the first time, and only for a moment, Chrissy prayed she'd hear Bri's grating voice flowing through the airwaves. Beration would mean they patched through.

T was lucid, fully focused on the radio, so Chrissy stretched her legs and peered over the railing.

She could see the department store where Glenn found them, and if she leaned, she could see where walkers still crowded the FEMA tents a few streets away. The front windows of the store had been bashed in, and walkers roamed freely where the trio once took shelter.

"Chris." Glenn sat on the rusted metal stairs, outstretched hand holding a half-sleeve of stale Ritz. His eyes said it was a peace offering.

Morales yelled over. "Glenn, Chris, check the alley-- you see any manhole covers?" They leapt up to peer over the railing, but found nothing. Jacqui offered information about potential drainage pipes in the building’s basement, and she and the stranger led the group downstairs by flashlight.

* * *

"Did you mean it about the signs?"

Lori's words came long after she asked Bri to help fold laundry. It was a better gig than babysitting, and Bri and Amy never established what they could do for the mothers besides be more present. So here Bri sat, fine with worrying about Chrissy in silence.

But she answered truthfully, "Yes. I think it's a good idea."

Big brown eyes betrayed the surprise Lori tried to stifle. "Good. 'Cause that's all Carl's talked about since." She paused, surprise replaced by a more pleasant half-smile. "Said Cory put it in his mind that different colors can mean different things. And this or that will make people trust us better."

Bri could see Cory coming up with something like that; but he would only say it to Carl to get him to go away. "Surprised they're talking."

"I think it must've been Dale's guiding hand rather than his own voilition." Lori paused, "but I'm glad. For Cory."

"He's so smart. Learnin' loads from Jim and Daryl--"

"Daryl Dixon's teachin' Cory?"

"Yep. Weren't for Merle..." Bri hesistated, looking for what she meant. She'd known more men like Merle than she'd known who were like Daryl. It takes a decent person to feed a thankless camp and to stitch up some annoying bitch over and over again. "...he'd be a good dude, I think."

With an unconvinced, breathy laugh, Lori said nothing more on the Dixons. "Wanna hear something hilarious?"

Lori's tone was flat, indicpheriable. Bri's blood good as skidded to a stop in her veins. She dropped the little blue shirt back into its pile. With the rumors flying to distract the camp patrons, and what Bri was certain of regarding Lori and Shane... what could be hilarious right now?

"Carl can't get over Chrissy. Like Glenn with you, how attentive he is." Her words were still dry and pointed, now in a way while made Bri feel like she was being implicated in a crime she wasn't privy to.

Bri stared to the gravel, and all she could get out was, "I don't know about that."

"Like lost puppies, the both of them." Lori trailed off with a small laugh.

Was it deflection? Or a warning? _Back off, Brigid_.

But Lori pushed the hamper so it nudged Bri's fists, and in the look Bri found, there wasn't an ounce of contempt. Traces of a confused humor, but nothing behind Lori's eyes indicated the gears were working harder than usual. No, Lori was just making small talk. She was just trying to be nice. _No one is out to get me_.

Bri released her pent-up breath on a short hum. "Cory's talkin' to me, too, again."

"I didn't realize y'all weren't talking. Been attached at the hip since even before--" Lori meant _before Chrissy left_ , but wouldn't say it, not while there was still a gaping chance she wouldn't be coming back.

"Yeah." Bri agreed, they'd been getting close. If only she handled the revelation of Chrissy's absence better. "He won't be asking me to sing him to sleep anytime soon. But, yeah. He showed me how to gut those fish."

Lori glanced over her shoulder to a few yards away where Carol, Sophia, and Cory were busy cooking up fish, while Amy delivered them another basket; Amy's anxiety over Andrea's absence was unavoidable, but she'd kept busy by letting the kids fish with her. Sophia said something which made the quartet bust into giggles. It warmed Bri to see that, while not as stricken as the rest, Cory allowed himself to laugh along.

"He's adjusting well." Lori's gaze found the laundry suddenly interesting once again, eyes hyper-focusing on a stain on a flannel of Dale's. She tossed it to the side. "I wasn't so confident he would, when y'all came in."

Five weeks wasn't enough to adjust to being an orphan, Bri was sure, but Lori meant he was adjusting to her idea normal, the kind she and Miranda had been so adamant about in the beginning. The normal where they pretend nothing is wrong. In that way, Bri felt he was getting better at pretending, following Chrissy's lead. But Lori's hope seemed in vain; she was the one who wanted to warn people away from the city. As good as a plan it was, there within was an admission of societal change. Lori was pushing against her own denial.

Bri's instinct was optimism, vague and lofty like Amy spouted. "They're good kids. We'll get them through."

"We?"

"Yeah. _We_."

* * *

The group unanimously decided Glenn would travel down first. _Like_ he's _the one we could stand to lose_.

Within the stacks of industrial storage in a space Jacqui called the subbasements, sat an open hole in the ground. If the ominous trickle of watered-down sewage wasn't inviting enough, the scurrying and squeaking of rats did the trick.

"We'll be right behind you." Andrea offered Glenn an ounce of comfort, but he shook her off.

At her flash of fury he explained, "Look, until now I always came here by myself, in and out, grab a few things, no problem. First time I bring a group, everything goes to hell." He gulped, throwing a fleeting glance towards Chrissy. "If you want me to go down this gnarly hole, fine, but only if we do it my way." A nod of approval. "It's tight down there. If I run into something, have to get out quick, I don't want you all jammed up behind me, getting me killed. I'll take one person--" He motioned to the cop. "Not you either. You've got Merle's gun and I've seen you shoot." Glenn delegated Andrea and the cop to cover the sales floor, and for Jacqui to keep watch between them and the basement.

He stared at Chrissy in half-defeat.

She understood, and looked to Morales before he could speak. "I'm quickest, I'll go."

Glenn silently pleaded with Morales; the father was outspoken in the car, already apprehensive of Chrissy's presence on the run, and ready to turn around when she spit out the truth. No doubt he was thinking of his own daughter, not so much younger than Chrissy.

"When we get back..." Glenn nodded, scanning the group for confirmation of the plan, "...no one tells Bri."

The stranger was momentarily confused as the group split for their required positions. In his distraction, Chrissy snatched his flashlight.

Glenn descended first, and Chrissy mimicked his stance with the flashlight clamped between her teeth. Once he was half-way down, she followed, placing careful feet on the slick ladder.

She was calm until she heard his feet splash in the muddy water. Landing beside him, the cold sludge seeped into her tennis shoes; the rats' squeaking amplified by the cavernous tunnel.

"Ew." She was a certain amount of terrified she might step on a rat, or one would get brave and run up her leg or something. Even in the dark, behind Glenn, Chrissy tried to keep neutral, stoic expression. From his shuddering breaths, she could tell he wasn't.

At the end of the tunnel was a sewer grate, floor-to-ceiling metal bars blocking their way.

"Can we cut through it?" Glenn's exprssion was full of baseless hope.

With a disapproving hum, Chrissy gripped the bars and _eeked_ at the grime which covered them. "Hell no. Not sure what would do the trick."

A low growl and a crunch filled the air. The jerk of their flashlight beams towards the grate revealed it to be a walker behind the bars. The decaying arm reached through the slate and pawed at Chrissy's leg; the wave of shock sent her backwards, slipping in the thin pool of sewage. Glenn immediately brought his foot down on the walker's limb, stomping and splashing gunk across her fallen form, but succeeding in severing the arm.

Chrissy let out a gasp. Glenn's hands shook worse than Bri's after a dry spell, but he still reached out and helped Chrissy stand. He was more frightened than she was.

"Let me guess--"

He completed, "--please, don't tell Bri."

They returned above-ground in time to hear the doors of the sales floor smashing. A wave of distress surged through Chrissy's veins, barely calming to see the single set of doors still between them and the walkers.

Chilled and stinking from the sewage, Chrissy stayed to the back of the group with Glenn hovering at her side.

"What did you find down there?" The stranger demanded.

Jaw clenched, Chrissy bit out, "Jack. Shit."

"Nothing down there." Glenn clarified, with a regrettable pat to her stained shoulder.

As walkers threatened to converge, they retreated to the roof. The plan came together once the man eyed the cube vans lining the fence of a construction sight in the distance. 

Him and Glenn would cover themselves in walker guts and pass through the crowded streets undercover. The theory of it made plenty of sense. But the man was clueless. To craft the plan, he had to be told how the walkers function. Like he, again, didn't know what the world had come to. Was the stranger not the reason they were stuck in the first place? Good on him for trying to solve the mess, but Chrissy might trust him more if he stepped back and allowed the group to make a decision rather than take charge.

"They already got through one set of doors, that glass won't hold forever."

"Well, at least it should be me and Mo." Chrissy said, arms crossed. Neither Andrea nor Morales could hold their eye-rolls. "What? We're the best with walkers, it's a straight-shot, if somethin' happens--"

"Chrissy." The lawyer-mom voice was grating, but Andrea knew it would work.

The stranger intervened, "We don't have time to change the plan."

 _This is barely a plan_. The phrase sat on her lips, but wide-eyed and incredulous, Chrissy stopped herself, and raised her hands in mock-defeat. Respect had to go both ways, and Andrea was her only defense.

Grabbing a pair of rubber gloves, Glenn grimaced, "Hey, you already smell like shit. So..."

The light-hearted attempt to pacify her only fueled the fire.

Morales and the stranger pulled a downed walker into the storage room they'd cleared the night prior. In gloves, overcoasts, and goggles, the majority of the group stood around the bodies, eyes darting expectantly. At Andrea's insistance, Chrissy stood out of their way, leaning on a filing cabinet.

As the stranger raised his axe, he stumbled, changing his mind.

For a man so adamant about the ticking clock, he knelt beside the body and removed the walker's wallet. From the ID, he read, "Wayne Dunlap. Georgia license."

Chrissy stifled a laugh, though she didn't know what it was for. Maybe for holding a vigil for some guy dumb enough to get himself killed. Maybe for the brief and biting chill that ran the length of her spine. How easy it would be for the body to be her.

"He used to be like us..." The man kept talking. Seemed to like the sound of his voice.

When Chrissy dug through the Shelton's house, and found the picture of herself and Cory and their own happy family, there was a framed photo and ID. She hadn't taken note of the name, but Bri was fond of the map she gave Glenn, proud of it. Mentioned it belonged to someone important, even though they all knew she'd been alone.

As the man wrapped up his memorandum, and he, Morales, and Glenn took their tools to the body,-- or, _Wayne_ , as the stranger would have it-- Chrissy considered how Bri, drunk on whatever the Sheltons left behind, probably had some sort of breakdown and tried to memoralize whoever this guy was to her. Chrissy couldn't imagine too many people would be as thoughtful as Bri or the stranger. Chrissy would not have taken the time, but why should anyone? Is it that hard not to get killed?

The stranger's words left her melancholic, and maybe that's what he set out to do. But it seemed useless anyways, as guts splattered across the concrete. Through groans and grimaces, the group painted the stranger and Glenn; she saw them through the slats of sunlight streaming into the dank storage room. Chrissy slid to the floor. The smell floating on the breeze outside Atlanta maximized in the confined space. Glenn puked up his crackers.

Too much happened at once, the combination of smells and sounds inflitrating her senses. She hadn't been calm, but she was fine being there, getting the job done. Her gut churned and something shifted. She wouldn't throw up, not in front of a crowd who so heavily doubted her as it was.

Andrea transferred her gun to Glenn's waistband; the group remaining would be fine without it, they were armed well enough, but it was the thought that for all the guns they had at camp, only a handful of people there knew how to use them. Where did that leave Cory?

"Chris." Morales knelt beside her. "You good?"

She missed Glenn and the stranger's exit, and the slamming of the door behind them.

"We're going to track them from the roof." His apphrension faded into more fatherly concern. Chrissy accepted his hand to help herself stand, but brushed him off, running to meet Andrea and Jacqui at the base of the stairs.

Glenn's cap and the stranger's axe were spotted on the street below them, halfway to the chainlink fence.

Then it began to rain.

* * *

"Boy, that hose isn't long for this world, is it?" Dale and Jim hovered over the RV, Cory close to their sides, deep in thought. "Where the hell are we gonna find a replacement?"

Bri watched from her log beside the girls. Cory's eyebrows knit together, a very Chrissy-type of look, like if he stared at the hose long enough, an idea would appear. And knowing him, the tactic might just work.

"It's too late, they should've been back by now." Amy's lip curled in, on the verge of tears. To Bri, she lowered her tone, "Do you know where Shane put your guns?"

"No, they were gone when Shane moved--"

Sophia perked up from her mathbook, " _I_ know where they are, Carl told me!"

A surprising revelation to Bri, but Amy nodded, "That's good, that's helpful."

The only conclusion Bri could come to was that Amy was planning a rescue mission, but the whir of the radio interrupted them both.

" _Hello, base camp!_ " T-Dog through the airwaves. " _Can anybody out there hear me?_ "

Atop the RV, the C.B. sat on a Yeti cooler, positioned so any correspondence would alert those closet. Dale took to the ladder with spry steps.

" _We're in some deep shit. We're trapped in the department store_."

The night before, it was their safe haven. Now, Bri wished she had the map, knew exactly where they were. If they were by the store Glenn picked them up at, if the herds were still similar... Amy's rescue mission wasn't sounding so bad.

Amy's fingers laced between Bri's.

Shane spoke low. "He say they're trapped?" If Bri weren't sober, she might have missed the break in his voice.

" _There are geeks all over the place. Hundreds of 'em. We're surrounded._ "

It had to be the area Bri was thinking of, but in the weeks since leaving the city, herds could have shifted, ganged up in different areas. Surely Dale would have a map of the city.

As T-Dog's voice fizzled out, Carl whimpered, though he was not the child Bri was concerned for-- she turned to see Cory seated in a truck bed, completely defeated. Despite a penchant for silence, Bri wasn't sure Cory couldn't use some words of hope.

"--Bri, the department store," Lori looked hesitantly between Bri and Shane, "don't you know it?"

Blood pooled in her mouth. Hand to lip, Bri realized she'd gnawed right through the skin. She shrugged. Could be the one, she wasn't sure. Looks passed over Bri, Amy and Lori communicating their understanding.

Lori broached Shane, who shut her down before she could try. "No way. We do not go after them. We do not risk the rest of the group. Y'all know that."

"So we're just gonna leave them there?" Amy detached from Bri, and blocked Shane's path.

"Look, Amy, I know that this is not easy--"

"They volunteered to go. To help the rest of us. Andrea, Chrissy's a child--"

Shane huffed, hands settling on his hips. He cocked his head. "Andrea and Chrissy got somethin' to prove, don't they?"

It hurt Bri to see Amy hurt, no matter if Shane was right about the both of them. Bri was speaking before she realized she was. Nonconfrontational, but stating Shane's words back at him. "What happened to _we gotta do what we gotta do?_ Even meaning covering our own asses, the people out there count, are they n--"

Shane interrupted, his voice no louder than Bri's. "What happened to _taking whatever you get?_ Dealing with it? Because if they're trapped, they're gone. We just have to _deal_ with that. Because there's nothing we can do."

Bri readied to speak again, having no clue what words would spill out, but Amy grabbed her hand, built-up tears ready to flow, "You son of a bitch."

It was an efficient ending on Amy's part, both for her own argument, and to keep Bri from expelling whatever else some untapped conscience was begging to say. Amy pulled them in Cory's direction, but the boy ran off. Jim shook his head and focused his tinkering, but Bri was sure he was keeping an ear out-- he was too quiet not to know more than he let on.

"You look like you need a drink." Amy was trying to be funny, to soothe her own heartache; Bri couldn't muster a smile. "Is that in bad taste?"

 _Yeah._ Instead, Bri said, "I hate that he's right. Can't imagine Andrea actually believed Chrissy." The uncharacteristic tilt of Amy's head warned Bri to watch her words. "Just mean, they're alike. Don't think Andrea's a liar, but..." Bri stopped herself before she dug a bigger hole.

Amy seemed too exhausted, too downtrodden to pick a fight with her only present friend. "Look, I'm going make sure there's a full tank in one of the cars. Keep me in the loop."

"Of course."

Stalking off to scheme or cry or to cry while she schemed, Amy tried to stay lowkey. Jim's quiet, huffy laughter distracted Bri away.

"You'd know, huh?" Bri hopped into the truck bed.

He tilted his head, playing dumb for a moment, jest at his expertise being completely ignored by the blonde. "There's 'bout'a half-a-tank in the ones we didn't strip, we made sure. Boy's idea to stock go-bags, too. Think Shane might've planted the idea, talkin' about not resettin' up after the rain."

Fort Benning was still on the table, but Bri wasn't sure who all knew about Shane's loose plans to move on. Without revealing much, she tried, "You think it's time to find somewhere else?"

Bri was growing to realize her questions often sounded accusatory by nature, but Jim didn't seem to register any blade in her tone. Instead, he turned his eyes briefly to the trail between rows of tents, where Cory disappeared to, pausing there before turning back to Bri.

He nodded like he was admitting something to himself, and Bri read right through it; _Whatever keeps him safe_.

Bri offered to get out of Jim's hair and let him get back to his work, but he admitted there wasn't anything much wrong with the cars. Everything him and Cory had been working on was superficial at best.

"Thought about clippin' some wires. Make some problems. Just to show him."

With Fort Benning up in the air and scarcity of resources, scraping working cars without a reason wasn't useful to anyone.

"He'll come back 'round in a bit." said Jim, when Bri asked if she should maybe run after Cory.

Bri set to work on a overflowing basket of empty cans. The residue of days past had built up and attracted unwanted visitors; she dispelled the last of a bug-spray bottle over the truck bed. With pot of water, a soiled rag and a dull metal nail-file, Bri took to scraping out the build-up.

Miranda was attentive to her children, with her husband being gone; a flash of blonde by Sophia's tent indicated Amy was back to her distractive duties. With everyone burying worry into work, Bri felt free to make up a task.

"We need to add a line by the Dixons' area." Bri said; not only had they moved after the storm, but it was Cory's go-to, secret hiding place. 

Jim pulled a roll of wire from his toolkit, and set it between them before taking his own rag to the cans. A moment passed before he pointed out, "You're shakin'."

Lo, and behold; a twitch in her wrist, most noticeable when bringing the rag to and from the pot. Unfortunately, "Yes."

Jim paused for a moment long enough that Bri thought that was all he had to say. Then he gave a tentative question posed as an assumption. "That's how you got scraped up."

"Sure."

"Think it'll happen again?"

The way he asked was too different from Shane's concern Bri was looking for attention. Different, in how Jim didn't care about Bri's well-being; she was inconsequential in a comforting way. Jim was asking if she'll be on her toes, too, and looking out for Cory should something strike. But in reality, she figured, the question was, _Are you going to make sure it doesn't happen again?_ _Are you going to stop drinking?_

She didn't know, not in any certain way, but Bri stated, "No, I don't think it will." And it seemed good enough for Jim. He must have already made his mind on sticking his neck out for Cory, from every whisper Bri had heard regarding the two. Any extra help was just comfort.

When the cans were clean, he got out his pocket-knife and set off poking holes in the sides of the cans. Jim let Bri try once, but with just her luck, her aim was misjudged; the blade scratched the can's surface, but skidded upwards, narrowly missing the fingers which gripped the can's opening.

Bri joked, wincing at having almost sliced her own fingers clean away. "Don't know about those fine motor skills."

Jim's laugh was small and forced, humoring her misfortune. "You see that boy, you tell him I'm callin' after him."

His words were a kind and gentle, _Get on out of here_ , and she took her leave. It's not like Jim would be Bri's first pick to hang out with before the world ended, but hey-- Cory was right, Jim only asked questions when they were the most necessary. God forbid she and Chrissy ever leave the picture, but Bri trusted Jim to save Cory's life in a heartbeat.

After talking to Lori and Jim, Bri knew people around camp liked Cory enough to look out for him beyond the principle of him being a kid. Their care left room for Bri to focus on Chrissy. It didn't seem like anyone else would be jumping at the opportunity.

* * *

Chrissy was shitting herself.

Well, metaphorically, but from the state of her, it would be hard to know. Andrea's comments on the smell of the sewage-stained clothes were less than nuanced, and Chrissy was inclined to tell her to shove it.

But Chrissy paused and watched the clouds burst overhead, washing the guts from Glenn and the stranger, revealing them to the dead. For a moment, she was filled with relief she wasn't the one down there, then her gut filled with the terror that she may be seconds from losing a newly won-back friend. Chrissy's heart began to race. Badly, quickly. Like she'd only experienced once before.

Morales claimed the rain would pass soon. But the last week was a testament to the necessity of the local weather channel. The pair were in the sights of Mo's binoculars, the man saying they were nearly at the chain-link gate anyway, and not to worry.

Chrissy did worry, with monumentous effort. She slid to a seated position, eye-level to a cuffed Merle Dixon whose taunts intermingled with Mo's paternal encouragement. With no more than a pinprick of rain and a light breeze, shirt dry against her back, there was no reason she should suddenly feel so cold, like goose pimples were stampeding underneath her skin.

The sky looked long overhead. It was stretched out and swaying like shirts on the clotheslines running criss-cross over camp. She used to like the rain, but now it was threatening her. Her chest hammered like the base drum on her friend's drum kit; and trying to stop the rumble, Chrissy couldn't remember their name. Chrissy placed her hands on the ground before her. They were claw-like for a second, grasping for a hold on the slab of concrete. New voices joined the men's hollering. They were feminine and closer to Chrissy's side. They rose in concern and agony to be swiftly silenced by a whirring siren. Merle said something, probably at her expanse, and laughed his hyena laugh.

"Baby, baby, look at me." Chrissy head was leaden, her vision crossed. "Chrissy, they're coming with the van, come on." For a second, it was her mother with her chocolate curls and pursing lips, encouraging her onwards with ghostly threat. Then, it was Jacqui and her kind, dark eyes, pulling Chrissy's arms to make her stand and collect her bearings.

Jacqui slung Chrissy's backpack across her own shoulders, and tugged the younger girl's hand, light, but firm. Merle's grating vocals echoed through the roof door and down the stairwell.

The walkers threatened to converge on the survivors from half-busted windows. The pull on Chrissy's wrist kept her afoot of her immediate surroundings.

In the offices by the loading dock, her fog began to clear, enough for Chrissy to take her bag and one of their food-filled duffles. With three urgent knocks as the stranger's announcement, they pulled open the sliding door.

The cop took Chrissy's bags first, hauling them into the open-back cube van. She pulled herself up on his extended arm, and took bags as they were handed to her.

Walkers' growls flooded the thin back hallways and into the bay. The dead were on Morales' heels as he threw his own weight into the van.

Only just settled in the cab, the clank of the closing door was the stranger's signal to pull out of the loading docks. They could breathe, finally, gulps of dusty air. They avoided the walkers, managed to get the fuck out of the department store with all their important pieces attached. Somehow managed it.

The group huddled in a stunned silence, eyes darting between their cohorts. Jacqui's thin fingers found Chrissy's shoulder again, and clutched there like a lifeline. There was something unspoken, though. It took a moment, in her relief, for Chrissy to catch on. "T--"

T-Dog's guilty face sunk from exhaustion into remorse.

Chrissy continued anyway, "--where's Merle?"

Heavy hands clutched at his bruised stomach, and his eyes prickled. "I dropped the damn key."

No one in the truck would be worse for wear at Merle's absence. But Daryl might just give them hell.

"Don't worry," Chrissy nudged T-Dog's knee with her foot. "I'll tell him."

"Nah..." His head fell to his chest. He was taking on blame he didn't deserve. It's not like he was the one who handcuffed Merle.

Chrissy dared to sneak a peek at the stranger who seemed to drive without route. The man who got them into this mess, bound to end in another if he didn't--

She saw it, then, Bri's map with the broad marker strokes, tucked half-open on the dashboard. It didn't mean trust, she thought, not from Glenn and certainly not from herself, but it was enough of a sign for her to lean back again the wood-plank wall and let him bring them home. Which was absolutely the least he could do for them now. Chrissy settled herself between Jacqui and Andrea, head resting on the shell-shocked blonde's shoulder.

Glenn's red race car sped past the van, its alarm whirring down 85 and out of the city.

* * *

Cory finally slunk out in public to get his lunch, but everyone was all too loud. At first he thought it was loud like loud noises, but they spoke hushed like always, keeping low in case any walkers made their way near camp.

They were loud like _way too happy_ , in Cory's eyes. Louis' mom was worried and so was Amy; Cory couldn't tell if Bri was anxious before, but she was out of sight by now. It was Carl making him sad, not at all on purpose, laughing with his mom while Shane sat across from them, laughing, too.

Cory brought his lunch back to the downed logs outside Daryl's tent, and thought about how school should be starting soon, or should have a week or so before. By whatever weekend was nearest, him, Chrissy, Mom, and Dad should be sitting in the front rows of a high school football game, cheering on the guys who volunteered with Chrissy's soccer team. Cory should not be eating fish mixed with boxed mac and cheese made in a community pot by a woman he didn't know a month ago because the world ended and Mom and Dad are dead and his sister is God knows--

A siren echoed in the hills.

 _That_ was too loud, and he jumped to find the source.

Bri was near Shane, who readied his rifle, and yelled for Dale to give an update. Her arms crossed and her head hung. Had Cory missed a radio call? Were they back? Were they _all_ back?

The car became louder, its wheels stirring the dirt path. It wasn't a siren, but a car alarm. If there weren't any walkers in the woods before, the noise would help them find their way to the quarry.

Cory's eyes searched for Jim, who was already on it. Dale and Shane blocked Cory's path to the driver, hollering to cut the alarm.

Glenn's face was bright and giddy as he leapt from the driver's seat. Amy started screaming at him, too.

"Can't be too bad," Bri came a few feet closer. Her smile was wonky and her eyes were kind of staring off over Cory's head. Not drunk like he'd seen her before, but worry must have got the best of her. "Glenn's too happy."

"She's okay?" Amy asked of Andrea.

"Yeah, fine. Everybody is."

Bri nudged Cory's shoulder. "Told you so."

Arguing over Glenn's stupidity, Shane and Jim took stock of the car, and whether it could be used for anything yet.

Glenn only let the beration settle for a second before running over to Cory and Bri; he brightened like he had a story to tell, and when he got closer, Cory realized Glenn's focus was on Bri. His breath shook and it was like was buzzing. Bri leaned in for a quick hug.

"Welcome back, man."

Glenn's shaking subsided at the contact, but he still seemed wired. "Holy shit, Bri, I have so much to tell you that I'm not supposed to tell you, we found this guy, and I think Merle got left--"

Cory asked, "Is Chrissy okay?"

A grin spread across Glenn's ecstatic face, and he slumped an arm around Cory's shoulder.

And Cory slipped right away from it. Who had let Chrissy go on the run in the first place?

Glenn instead threw his arm around Bri, who seemed the most relieved of all. 

A moving van rumbled up the path. Everyone was back.

Cory wasn't going to cry when Chrissy showed her face, because he wasn't sure she would even give him a hug after how she left, or he wasn't planning on it.

But when Amy threw her arms around Andrea, and when Louis finally got to hug his dad, Cory got sniffley. But it wasn't because of Chrissy, no, it wasn't.

Jacqui, a woman who was half-a-foot shorter than his sister, and spindly like twigs, held Chrissy by the shoulders, guiding her from the van. Chrissy's hair was loose in her ponytail, but one tug of her scrunchie wouldn't be able to make her look any worse than she already did.

Jacqui released Chrissy and gave her a pat on her cheek. T-Dog was no better than Chrissy, Cory could tell from the tears in the man's eyes. Jacqui turned to take care of him, leaving Chrissy looking lost.

Everyone was happy she was okay, but the truth was that no one had to like her. At the moment, Cory didn't like her, and he was willing to bet Bri didn't either. Even if they both cared about her.

Chrissy walked towards the trio. She owed them all apologies, but Cory wasn't sure if they should come before the happy reunion. She didn't seem sure either.

"Hey, girl." Bri was the bravest of the four. With everyone else embracing their family, no one was looking on at their awkward unit.

Up close, Chrissy was caked with what looked like mud but smelled way worse. Was this what Glenn wasn't supposed to tell them about? Chrissy stepped nearer, acknowledging Bri's words to her, but not looking away from the ground.

"You good?" Bri tried for any response.

Chrissy kind of shrugged. "Guess so. I'm alive, right?" She looked at Cory, finally, and half-waved, half-flailed. "Gonna clean up." She said something just to Bri, and shrugged.

Cory watched close as she dragged her feet towards their tent. Looks passed between Glenn and Bri weren't easy to figure out, but they seemed to ask they same _What the heck_ questions Cory was thinking, too.

Shane asked Glenn, "How'd y'all get out of there anyway?"

Glenn laughed, "New guy. He got us out." He still seemed surprised they managed to at all.

That morning, Cory told Carl the only thing they had in common was being boys who didn't have dads. Carl agreed, but said they could be friends anyway, and wouldn't leave Cory alone, so Cory talked and talked to see what would get him to go away. Nothing did, because apparently Carl wanted to know Cory's secrets for getting out of chores, and wouldn't take _we just have different chores_ as an answer. Cory would talk at Carl, and Carl would talk to Cory, neither about the same or related things. Carl said it was cool that Bri was around, because if something happened, she would be like a replacement sister.

"Like Shane is a replacement dad?"

The question made Carl go quiet but not get so upset he would run away. It seemed too soon a declaration on Cory's part, now that the man in the tan uniform was running towards Carl and Lori.

Bri's breath hitched, and Cory's eyes prickled. He thought he'd got Carl good, huh-- didn't think he could suddenly predict the future. Carl screaming for his dad didn't help. Glenn and Bri were talking silently over Cory's head again. Cory tucked his head into Bri's hip, so he didn't have to watch.

* * *

Rick Grimes explained how he'd woken from a coma and found out the world had ended. He huddled with his wife and son at the campfire. It seemed, as Rick told his story, that no one could keep their focus on him and his tale, however miraculous.

Shane's eyes would dart between Rick and Lori and Carl, each gaze a different shade of confusion. Cory's eyes fixed on Carl, whose father's hand was threading through his son's hair. T-Dog stared at the ground, and Chrissy kept going from comforting T-Dog to staring at the ground, too. Amy and Andrea held hands and shared food, but the older of the two kept looking Chrissy's way in concern. Dale seemed more content than the rest, but relief for Andrea's return and worry for Cory's sadness played beneath his bucket hat. Glenn kept sneaking looks at Bri, and any soft admiration which used to reside there was replaced by worry and questions of what was next. This should have been a celebratory night, but the anxiety of the past few days was replaced and doubled by every other problem.

To calm herself, Bri sat her thermos shamefully in her lap.

Bri nearly mimicked Rick's movements to ease some of Cory's twitchiness, but instead, she distracted him with the last of her soup.

Chrissy finally leaned her head on T-Dog's shoulder. She was in clean sweats and they wore twin forlorn looks.

"Mom said you died." Carl looked up softly.

Rick cupped his son's face. "She had every reason to believe that. Don't you ever doubt it."

Lori met Shane's eyes, finally. _Oh, Jesus Christ_.

Bri wanted to laugh out loud; when Rick first embraced his wife and child, she felt a change. Shane might still want to go to Fort Benning for a safe haven for Lori and Carl, but he would have to contend with the woman's husband, first. Would he keep to it? He'd said plenty about doing things for the benefit and safety of the kids, but Bri always assumed he mostly meant Carl. How much did he care for the rest of them at all?

"I barely got them out." Shane told Rick. "You know?"

"I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, Shane." Rick leaned forward. "I can't begin to express it.

Shane left the circle to berate Ed, as deserved. Chrissy spoke quietly to T-Dog, mothering him almost by making sure the corners of his blanket didn't lift in the breeze. Her face was flat, eyes still reeling from the run.

"You," Bri felt a tap on her shoulder. Rick stared at her. "you look familiar."

"She's a famous singer." Glenn was quick to chime, stifling a grin at Bri's displeasure.

She bit her cheek. "No, I'm not."

"Nah, it's a woman's face. Can't place it." _Oh, so, my mother?_ He shrugged it off, but he looked away like he'd figured it out. "Know any campfire songs?"

"Nah." Bri laughed into her thermos straw. "Maybe if I had a guitar I could make something up."

Lori half-smiled. "You've been promising for a while. I'm startin' to think you might not be so world-renowned after all."

Glenn playfully jumped to Bri's defense, "No-- she's great, you'll love her." Bri's cheeks twinged and she blamed her celebratory drink.

In the lull, Dale asked what they might do about Daryl. Amy's idea to lie to Daryl stuck out, though Daryl would likely want to head into the city to find him, regardless. Bri caught Chrissy staring.

"What do you think, Bri? Y'all are friends, huh?"

The lack of any snark in her question caught Bri offguard. "I, uh. I speak to the Dixons. Yeah."

"Think he might take the news better? If it came from you?" Rick asked.

"Probably won't _take_ the news at all."

She couldn't read much into Rick's expression, but he seemed both at a standstill and at a lack of fucks given for what happened with Merle Dixon.

"Merle deserved it." Chrissy stated without inflection, eyes on Cory. "We needed to get back."

"I stopped long enough to chain that door." T-Dog said. "Staircase is narrow, maybe half a dozen geeks can squeeze against it at any one time. It's not enough to break through there. Not that chain, not the padlock." He looked from Rick to Bri to Glenn. "My point, Dixon's alive. And he's still up there, handcuffed on that roof. That's on us."

T-Dog's departure sent the rest of the group in their own directions, tucking in for the night. Shane tapped Bri's arm, pulling her attention from the half-asleep children. She shooed them to go on.

Flat-faced, giving away no intent, Shane asked, "Is Chris good?"

Bri shrugged.

"The run was the wrong call."

The run wasn't subject to debate, God, it's all they thought about because it was the only way forward. It wasn't the run, not even Chrissy's involvement, that was the wrong call. What hurt was him not trying to go into the city to save them; his warning that they needed to be ready for them not to be okay still stung. Bri's weight shifted to one hip, head cocked. "On whose part?"

"It's on everyone who didn't stop her goin'. Myself included."

 _Hmm_. There wasn't much to do, was there? It happened, it's over, it's done. "At least it was with a group," Bri shook her head. "if it was just her and Glenn... Can't imagine-- whatever. She asked me to talk to her."

"Think she'll apologize?"

"Nah. Not her." Bri shifted her thermos from one hand to the other. It's weight still hefty, more than three quarters undrunk. "She's trying. Not how she should, but she is." Biting her cheek, she added, "Like me, I guess."

"So." Shane tilted his head, and Bri could see he was thinking thirty different things at once. He tried to be encouraging. "Gotta nudge her in the right way. She'll figure it out like you're figuring it out."

He bade her goodnight with a pat to the shoulder. His eyes stayed on her thermos for a second, less judgemental, and maybe more wondering if she would share if he asked for some. Bri watched until he was settled in the lawn chair atop the RV, binoculars lazily in hand.

The idea stuck in the back of her mind that he was willing to leave so many people stranded. No one got through to him then, but Bri wondered what Rick might have done. All Bri knew of him was a handful of childhood stories from Shane, and a brief overview of his and Lori's marriage. Glenn said Rick got them out of the city. She would ask Chrissy how the man seemed in action.

Well. Maybe with Rick around, Shane would try harder to prove himself to Lori, take her side more. If she removed Lori's naivety on the state of the world, she had good ideas. Her influence would help everyone, not just her and Carl. Was it a terrible thought? To consider the benefits of Shane continuing his relationship with Lori under her not-dead husband's nose? Did it matter if everyone thought Bri and Shane were banging anyway? Was that all just super rude?

Bri arrived at the tents, blowing bubbles through her straw. Andrea had offered to swap for the night, so she could be with her sister. Opening the flap, she saw Cory passed out, or at least pretending, on his pallet. Chrissy was sitting up straight, waiting.

Bri slid beside her, and Chrissy immediately folded over into Bri's lap. Everything Chrissy did was unpredictable, but the motion shocked Bri regardless. She didn't cry out loud, but hid her head in her hands, rubbing at her temples. Bri took the clean, damp curls in her fingers, playing with the strands, and scratching her scalp.

Finally, Chrissy rasped, "He asleep?"

Bri leaned, nudging Cory with the tips of her fingers. He didn't budge.

"Um." Chrissy started, cheek resting against her palm. "I needed to see you, when I got back. But I also didn't want to say anything about anything. So it made more sense why we didn't talk, after your hands."

Bri nodded, then realizing Chrissy couldn't see her, she hummed. It was awful of Bri, to have not said anything, to not explain herself like she promised. _Damn it_. If Bri had been just a little bit better to her, the chances Chrissy wouldn't have went on the run were high. Hadn't she done it just to spite Bri?

"I had a panic attack or somethin'. Don't know why. Or, I think I know, but I don't _know_."

"That's okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bri said, and Chrissy didn't move from her lap thereafter; her breathing went from sputtering and disjointed huffs of trying to suppress sobs to evening out in what Bri thought was slumber. Bri would rather sleep on Andrea's cot over the tarp-covered gravel again, but Chrissy at a state of rest was more important, she knew.

Starting to pull one of the thread-bare blankets across Chrissy, the younger girl lifted her head. "Do you need me to--?"

"No no no--"

Chrissy pulled the blanket around herself, awake still, and thinking, but less shaken than before. She stared, before curling on the ground beside Bri, near enough that pulling away would be rude.

So, Bri took her own thin blank, which at its full length didn't go much further than her waist, and scratched at her bare legs, and laid beside Chrissy. She thanked God it wasn't any colder than a humid 80 degrees with light winds to cool them. A flicker in the back of Bri's mind said if a month could pass so quickly, fall would settle in soon, too, and then winter right behind it.

Bri said, "Thanks."

"For?"

"Not doin' what I did. Not sayin' nothing."

"Not like I said all that much." Chrissy shifted onto her back, staring at the highest point of the canvas. "I realized you should've said something. So I should say something. Yeah."

"Yeah, I should have." Everything she said to Amy out on the water-- that's what she should have told Chrissy. Chrissy, who put down her own parents, could handle it. Bri needed to stop pretending she couldn't. "I will."

"It's hard to say stuff. Sorry I gave you a hard time about it."

Bri wondered if Chrissy still considered her a _fucking idiot_ , but a real apology-- _wow_. Chrissy seemed too tired to be messing around.

So again, Bri said, "Thanks." And she hoped sounded as genuine as she was.

"I--" Chrissy stopped herself. Took a breathe, which seemed to change what she was going to say. "When you're ready. Or like. Cool with it. I'd like to know things about you."

Bri smiled, and Chrissy was close enough to see in the low light. "And I'll fact check some of what Cory's passed on about you."

A rush of embarassment made Chrissy go wide-eyed. Childishness was a much better look than the adult sensibilities she'd been trying to pull off. "Um. Whatever he says is _not_ true."

"Can't be that bad." Laughter turned quickly into smothered giggles.

Chrissy nudged her shoulder. "Yes, it can! Bad things have happened, oh my gosh."

The bad things that happened were nothing in the face of the bad things that were happening. The shy smile gave away Chrissy's moment of reminiscence.

"Good night." Chrissy said, after silence fell, and added quietly, "This could be good."

Bri said, "Good night, Chris." And she agreed, that this could be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me giving one paragraph to entire plotpoints vs me dedicating hundreds of words per chapter to describing the interpersonal relationships of characters ik will be k-worded very soon... the first deaths are gonna hit me hard ngl
> 
> also! i feel like its useless to apologize for such long gaps in between updating, because these gaps will continue to be erratic and unscheduled, BUT i want to remind u that by subscribing, you'll get a notif whenever i *finally* upload. cheers!


	7. Portention

Bri woke with thumping in her temples, and assuming her muscles would make an instinctual move towards the metal crate, she laid rigid until light beamed against the tent. The crate, it dawned on her, was tucked under blankets in the other tent. Twenty minutes or an hour, she couldn't tell how long she waited. Waking the children by leaving or waking Amy and Andrea by pilfering in their tent wouldn't be kind on a well-deserved lazy morning. Sitting up, she was secure in her resolve to avoid the crate like she should've the day before. It felt like a small victory.

Chrissy nestled into her hip, having moved nearer in her sleep. In the hot, stinking day, Chrissy's scowl would no doubt return, but seeing her relaxed after the stress of the run was more than enough reason to let her sleep in. It's not like Bri often rose before either child anyway. With a lax jaw and eyes stirring in a dream, Chrissy looked more like Cory than ever. The reminder of her youth wasn't helpful; Glenn told Bri she was as capable as the rest, sure, but there was still a naivety and an infallibility about Chrissy that seemed to be damaged by the run. Bri prayed it was more of a wake-up call than a break of spirit.

Shane sat where she left him the night before, and was as ragged as the day they met. There was some shame, in an unreachable pocket, that Bri felt for being so curious about Shane's business; granted, she mostly minded her own, before he decided it was okay to leave their group, including a teenager, trapped downtown. Even if his reasons were clear, they hurt. Beyond that was the hurt and shame that his reasons made perfect sense. What was behind the reasons-- that's what she was confused and half-worried about. How much was done for the good of Lori and Carl, and how much of that was out of selfishness? Sure, he cared enough to call after Chrissy; he also seemed less sorry for his lack of action, and more sorry that the situation happened in the first place. Either way, Bri couldn't find satisfaction in how miserable he looked as he slid from the RV ladder and came over to her.

"You're up early."

"You're up late?" She wondered.

He nodded, rubbing his chin. "You mind sharin' germs?"

"'Scuse me?"

Shane pointed to the canteen on her hip. "You mind?" She passed it over, hoping she would remember to rinse it out later; one set of germs was fine by her, but she wasn't as close to the Grimes family as he was. Shane took a swig and his brows shot up. "This is water."

"Yes."

He stayed half-shocked.

"I drink water." Bri took it back.

"Ah, well. Between you and Ed, y'all are the only ones with a stash."

"Well..." Bri chalked his candor up to exhaustion. "Got a plan for today?"

"Easy going. Plenty of shit we still need. If Glenn's up for it, I'll see what he thinks about another trip to one of those neighborhoods out west from here, but I'm not too sure yet."

"You up for shootin' today?" She added, tentatively, "Seems like you need to blow off steam."

Shane laughed like _Yeah, no shit_ , but there was no malice. "Take some chores off my hands so I can get a nap in? We'll see if we can't set up some bottles somewhere."

She accepted his list, and after catching a half-awake Glenn from tripping over his unlaced sneakers, helped Shane load coolers and jugs into his Jeep. Shane passed her the keys with a warning look, but Bri was stone-cold sober. She promised she would be careful, for the Jeep's sake.

"I miss coffee." Glenn lamented.

"You make the lists, dude."

"How are you even awake? Did you even sleep?"

"I did."

"And Chrissy...?"

"Yeah, she's doing good. Or, better than she seemed to be. She apologized."

Glenn's expression changed from blank drowsiness to mild shock. "Really?"

"Too tired to keep pushing back, I think."

It didn't take more than twenty minutes or so to fill and lug the coolers to the Jeep, but neither were packing muscle. She forgot about lifting from her knees instead of her back.

Glenn whimpered, keeling over, "Shane always does this by himself. How?"

" _Ugh_ , I've got some painkillers in my tent."

He waved her off and slouched against the wooden dock. "Don't waste them."

Bri sunk beside him. Glenn played with a twig, using it to scrape dirt and grime from his once-white shoes. It wasn't an awkward silence, but after the previous day, there was a lot needing reconfiguration; rethinking runs and keeping better track of supplies, should weather be a problem again. Better protocol, or protocol at all, needed to be established for taking care of a situation like getting stuck in the city.

"Shane will say no, but I want to go on a run."

Glenn made a face.

"I'm not askin' to get smuggled out. I'm just sayin' I wish I could go. 'Stead of Chrissy, I don't think she needs to be out there. I was fine, before, I can handle myself with walkers."

An attempt to reassure herself, having not been around the dead in weeks? Maybe.

"Chrissy isn't going again, not with me." Glenn's voice was guilt-ridden. "I don't want her upset, but I think it's risky and I don't like risky."

 _He doesn't like risky for other people, but is fine for risking himself_.

"I know you know the most, but you need a break. Seems like thankless work."

Glenn opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, and kicked at a mound of dirt. "I could always just stop going. Someone else could do it."

His hypothetical was unconvincing; his conscience about having such a useful skill was too strong to sacrifice for, what, standing lookout with Dale? Bri and Glenn both knew that for now his lot was putting himself in danger. His being content about it didn't mean it sat well with Bri.

"Shane's gonna show me how to shoot."

He stilled, scanning the pink-red lines darting over her palms, the ones she'd been ignoring. "With your hands?"

Bri made fists but couldn't squeeze them shut, before flexing them as far as they would go. Past a point, it was painful again, but still better than it had been. "I bet I can hold and grip a trigger. Should be fine." One day, it might be a minor inconvenience. The emotional strain of the incident might last longer than the physical damage.

"As long as you're not hurting yourself."

They loitered for a bit longer, Shane being asleep, no one knew to call after them, and arrived back at camp soon enough. It bustled with movement and chore delegation and breakfast chatter. Morales, Dale, and Jim rummaged through the frame of the red sports car, removing its rims and engine. Glenn sighed in defeat.

"Bunch of vultures---" He swung himself from the open frame, and approached Dale, who capped the jug of siphoned gas.

Cory's small voice came from the passenger's seat, saying, "Sorry." From the glove box, he took maps and empty cigarette cartons.

"Mornin'. Need a hand?"

Bri killed the engine at Rick's offer. She was prepared to accept, knowing the weight of the containers, but the Jeep was swarmed in an instant, and with cartoonish speed there was nothing left but the jug she'd tucked by her feet for her crew.

Rick laughed, "Well, then."

"Mornin'." Bri hopped out.

"You know if Chris is around? I was wantin' to apologize for how we met. Hopin' to avoid a vendetta."

Bri sighed. "Aren't we all-- Lori warn you?"

"Ah, yeah."

"Good on her."

"Yeah, there was talk in Atlanta about not tellin' you some things." Rick seemed humored by the concept, finding something funny about the day prior, in hindsight. Bri wished Chrissy had hopped off that van cracking wise.

Bri hummed, pocketing the keys, and grabbing the jug. "The _po_ lice being a narc, that's funny-- oh, Sherriff's deputy, right?"

"That's correct, Shane and I both." He pointed to her t-shirt. "You're from the area?" Glancing down, sure enough, she was wearing Shane's King County tee, though Rick didn't seem to assume it wasn't her's.

Not wanting to dig herself a hole, she said truthfully, "Nah, Atlanta since middle school. Before that, Douglasville, Marietta, briefly."

"All nice areas." Not in the spots she lived. "Those kids-- family?"

"Friends."

"Chris is..."

"...a real piece of work? She takes herself seriously." Bri added before she could stop herself, "And she prefers Christine." Bri started towards the RV. The remaining chores were easily-done, yet necessary tasks: attaching the tin-can lines Bri prepped with Jim the day before, and sorting out supplies from the run.

"Don't mean to pry, but you seem capable."

Bri shaded her eyes from the sun with her palm. "Of going on a run?" Rick nodded. "Yeah. There was a whole situation."

"Hmm?"

"It was this whole thing, but Chrissy ended up going."

"Well, she's good in a crisis."

"You make sure to tell her that when you're groveling."

"I will." He seemed finished, and Bri went to head off. He spoke again, "Do you know--" but a scream cut him off, Sophia's or Eliza's, coming from the brush a ways up the hill. In urgency, Glenn passed her a baseball bat, and voices in front and behind called that they were on their way.

"---I got it!" Chrissy called.

The group ducked pass the can-lines and into a clearing, where Chrissy stood, swiping her bloody knife across her jeans. A walker lay dead by a downed deer, whose neck and upper chest were a bloody, demolished mess of tendons. Daryl's arrows stuck out from the side.

"It's all good. Promise."

Bri grabbed her arm, and a scowl was forming, before Chrissy realized who was touching her. "You're alright?"

Bri expected a _Duh_ , but all Chrissy did was wipe the sweat from her brow. Exhausted, she repeated, "I got it."

Dale blanched. "That's the first one we've had up here. They never come this far up the mountain."

Jim chimed, "Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what."

Twigs cracked and the trees rustled, tossed by an impending figure with footsteps too quick to be a walker's. Weapons at the ready, they waited; it was close to a relief for it to be Daryl trampling into the clearing, whining about the loss of his deer. The loss of which would have been concerning to Bri, too, if not for Merle's unknown fate dangling above their heads.

Glenn sent a glance between her and Daryl's crouched figure, and Bri caught Rick's calculating look. The plan they didn't have a plan for ticked closer and closer; Daryl was a time bomb.

"I've been trackin' this deer for miles. Was gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison." Dale was quick to shut down Daryl's proposal to cut around the infected meat. Huffing, he slung his rope of squirrels at Bri, and in her shock, she caught the corpses, quick to grab the knot furthest from the dead animals.

She kept her face stony, holding the rope a foot away from herself. thankful he didn't give her a second look.

Glenn paled as Daryl beelined to camp, and when Bri said his name, he scurried after Dale.

Rick took up a cop's pose beside her: a hand before him, and a hand on his hip. "What do you think?"

 _There'll be hell to pay_. "Like I said. He's not gonna take it well. Better just say it."

Daryl wouldn't hit a woman, she felt Daryl had a conscience, but he wasn't above taking his anger out on whomever was closest.

Bri hurried after the group, already hearing Daryl call out for his _ugly-ass_ brother.

"Let's stew 'em up." Daryl slung off his crossbow by the big pot, and did a snap-and-point in Bri's direction, a not-gentle suggestion to sit and prep the station.

Cory peeled himself from Amy and joined Bri. "What's gonna happen?"

"I do not know."

Shane initiated contact, was the first person with balls enough to do it. "Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you."

Daryl slowed his roll. "About what?"

"About Merle. There was a-- there was a problem in Atlanta."

Better phrasing would have led with _Merle's alive, but..._

Daryl's face betrayed the cold exterior. "He dead."

"No--" Bri started.

Shane spoke over her, "We're not sure."

"He either is or he ain't!"

Rick cut in, hand on Bri's shoulder, which she shrugged off. It said to her, _Let the cops take care of this_ , as if he hadn't been the one to ask if she'd break the news. Daryl's belligerence would only heighten with the condescending law enforcement, and she was the same way. Rick didn't allow her time to speak, and nudged her lightly from the boxing ring.

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it--"

"Who are you?" Daryl paused at the new face.

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes," he mocked, "you got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."

Daryl turned away, wiping at his nose. "Hol' on. Let me process this." He poked Rick's chest. "You're sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?!" Frustrated tears brimmed, and fury for showing weakness bubbled beneath the surface.

Rick's plain reply was, "Yeah."

Daryl leapt for Rick, who was already on guard, and Rick pushed Daryl to the ground, Daryl unsheathed his knife, aiming for anyone who dared come near. Bri stepped up as Chrissy took her arm in an iron grip.

Shane had Daryl in a choke-hold, man-handled. Overkill. A better announcement would have saved them the trouble. They were right that she should've done it-- even Glenn would have come up with a better approach.

T-Dog revealed he'd been the one to drop the key, and when Daryl realized everyone supported Rick's stance, he spat out, "Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is so's I can go get 'im."

"He'll show you." Lori spoke with pointed words. "Isn't that right?"

Rick confirmed. "I'm goin' back."

Daryl shoved him and stalked to the pot. He accepted the extended squirrel-rope, and sat caddy-corner to Bri. After a moment, either to her, or to the lingering crowd, he muttered, "Y'need to mind your damn business."

Bri wasn't going to fight him, so she took out her knife and waited for him to defume. The cops continued to speak about Merle's antics, and in spite of himself, Daryl mostly held his tongue, instead focusing on the dead animals before him. He sat cross-legged and worked slower than usual, so she could align with his movements. He was silent between knife strokes, which would have been fine if Bri had paid attention in tenth grade biology, and actually had an idea about what was going on inside the squirrels. When Cory came along, he was more helpful, pointing and helping her to keep her knife strokes smaller and cleaner.

They'd gotten half way through the rope when Lori approached Rick, "So you and Daryl, that's your big plan?" Rick looked around; Glenn balked, but T-Dog agreed he'd be going.

Chrissy voice wavered uncharacteristically, "I know where we were, I can help, some way."

Bri sensed her discomfort. "No. I'll.." Shane tilted his head just so, and she stilled. Chrissy squeezed her arm with a small, acknowledging smile.

Bri's guns and the scattered few around camp wouldn't go far in case of an attack; T-Dog would take one of her's into the city, and they would pick up Rick's bag, stocked with over a dozen guns and various ammo. Along the way they would return to the store where they left Merle. Risking their lives for his didn't seem right, but a walker had been right there, right in camp. Their need for the guns evened out the risk. But only just arriving in Lori's good graces, Bri would keep her opinion to herself.

Daryl slid his rag over the guts on his knife. "Doogie Howser can take over." He wasn't impressed by Bri's squirrel-skinning skills.

Starting mid-way through a squirrel didn't seem to be an issue for Cory.

"Do you know what the parts are called?" Sophia asked.

Cory splayed the squirrel on a stump for better viewing. "No, just doin' what he showed me."

Cleaning off her stained hands, Bri found Glenn throwing together his bag.

"I just unpacked it, too." He was exhausted.

"I meant it. I wanna go. Wanna help more than I am. I think that risking y'all's lives for Merle is dumb. He's a grown-ass man."

"I don't know the right answer, either. But we need those guns." He shouldered his pack. "If Chrissy didn't get to that walker this morning, or if... she hadn't been able to kill it... I'd feel safer If we had more protection."

Bri sent him off with a hug and a not-so-nice feeling settled her gut. Once the cube van peeled out onto the gravel road, Shane beckoned her over.

Not sensing any strong intentions, Bri planted her feet, holding her arms across her chest. "Just tryin' to help the situation."

"I know that. And until I _know_ you're up for somethin' like that, it'll still be a _no_."

Bri rolled her eyes. _All hands on deck_.

"That's not what I wanted to tell you, though. And don't think this is me accusing you of anythin'. Just gotta cover all my bases."

"Okay..."

"I went to grab 'em, to delegate, and there were only three."

"Only brought four, so--"

"Before I took 'em. So now there's one left."

 _Not like anyone knows how to use them anyway_. Amy would have told her if, in her fleeting plans for a rescue mission, she pocketed a gun; it would have been useless then, too, because Amy couldn't shoot either. "Still don't know where you're keepin' them. Gave 'em up anyways 'cause there's was no use havin' somethin' useless."

" _Gave 'em up_ \--" Shane chuckled out of annoyance more than anything. Rubbing the growing scruff on his chin, he said, "I'll keep askin' around, then."

The realization didn't hit until Shane skulked off-- there was a gun floating around camp. A gun that a kid could get a hold of, or someone with bad intentions could be holding onto until the perfect moment. Though Bri couldn't pin any person in camp who seemed sketchy or lying in wait, it was true she didn't know everyone in camp.

Wariness and general anxiety and the search for a salve to calm them led her to find and refill her thermos before heading to the RV, where Dale was already pilfering through bags of supplies. His grandfatherly smile and sincere concern weren't enough to dissuade the feeling in her stomach, and neither was the swell of supplies. As she sat with a pen and a notebook, checking things off, it stayed in her gut-- a lurching, burning, dreading feeling.

* * *

Chrissy sat between Amy and Andrea, doing the _Little House on the_ _Prairie_ work. Aside from Andrea's bitching, the continuous, monotonous work was comforting. The previous day had been too much, and she needed to sit and listen to idle chatter. Her mind wandered to the night before, how she told Bri she wanted to know more about her. But Bri wasn't the volunteering type, and Chrissy would need easy questions to patch through. It was nice to think about something that was important, but not dire.

Once Shane and Carl were splashing up a storm, hunting for frogs, it wasn't so peaceful, but at least spirits were high. Andrea and Jacqui's recollection of the run wasn't helpful, not with T-Dog's injuries and Glenn still seeming rattled from being covered in guts. And definitely not with the men back on the streets so soon.

So scrubbing against the metal boards until her fingertips were raw was fine by her.

"I do miss my Maytag." Carol said.

Andrea hummed. "I miss my Benz, my sat nav."

"I miss my coffeemaker with that dual-drip filter and built-in grinder, honey." Jacqui slung a shirt over her shoulder.

Amy sighed. "My computer. And texting."

Saying she desperately missed her mother would snuff out the mood right there.

"My home theatre." Chrissy decided. "Watchin' _Star Wars_ on the big screen."

Andrea paused. "I miss my vibrator."

The women pealed with laughter, and Chrissy choked on a giggle.

Amy swatted at her sister. "Oh my god, in front of a child!"

Carol added, "Me too."

They cackled around the wash buckets, and while Chrissy reddened, feeling very much like she wasn't supposed hear this kind of adult business, Amy held her arm, trying to keep herself from doubling over with laughter.

"What's so funny?" The lazy drawl cut through and disintegrated the moment, and with Ed's presence wafted certain unique stench.

"Just swapping war stories, Ed."

Being successful at avoided Ed was all in a day's work, and hanging with Sophia for the past weeks gave Chrissy a keen awareness of Ed's schedule. Like a ritual, he should be taking a mid-day nap after smoking on the perimeter, but no such luck today.

"Problem, Ed?" Andrea intoned.

"Nothin' that concerns you." To Carol, he demanded, "And you oughta focus on your work. This ain't no comedy club."

Ed kept lurking behind them, all the more skeevey than when he'd been watching from his car.

Amy muttered, "Fucking creep."

Andrea turned to him. "I tell you what. If you don't like how your laundry's done, you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself. Here." She tossed him a wet shirt.

"Ain't my job, missy." He threw it back, the wet cloth smacking across Andrea's face.

Trying to quell the oncoming storm, Amy stood. "Andrea, don't."

"What is your job, Ed? Sitting on your ass, smoking cigarettes."

"Well it sure as hell ain't listening to some uppity smart-mouthed bitch." He motioned at Carol. "Tell you what-- come on. Let's go."

Going back-and-forth did nothing but rile them both. "Y'all don't wanna keep prodding the bull here, okay? Now I am done talking, come on."

Amy took one arm when Ed yanked the other. "No, Carol, you don't have--"

"You don't tell me what! I tell you what!"

Ed slapped Carol, open-palmed, and it was the first time Chrissy ever thought she would be able to kill someone.

Andrea shoved Ed back a few feet enough for Carol to be in the clear, but it didn't keep him from coming forward with blind anger. Arms swung wild, and Chrissy fell on her ass with a sting in her side. Shane came in from across the way and sent Ed flying into the ground. Shane's fists rammed into the man's face, and Chrissy could easily ignore her own pain by basking in the satisfying attack. No amount of hits could make him look worse than he already did.

"--Chris," Amy knelt beside her. "are you okay?"

At Amy's concern, Shane's head swung around, and seeing Chrissy in the dirt refueled his fury. Cries pleading for a stop wouldn't break his concentration. Only once he was losing his steam did Shane wind the fabric of Ed's shirt around his fists, and pull him close with a final, unintelligible threat.

Reeling, Shane stepped away, slinging blood off his fist, and kicking Ed's pulpy form for good measure.

Carol's sobs over her beaten husband couldn't make Chrissy feel a bit guilty. If anything, Chrissy understood, for a second, that her own mother wasn't a lawyer so she would never have to see her kids. If the woman couldn't beat the fuck out of a piece of shit, damning them to be beaten behind bars was the next best option.

"C'mon." Shane gripped Chrissy by the elbow, and pulled her along the trail like the action would keep him from turning back and finishing the job on Ed.

The first things Chrissy noticed in the RV were Bri's bleary eyes, and the thermos she quickly tucked behind one of the bags she was unloading. Stacked cans and ramen packets lined the table where Bri scribbled down items and quantities.

Shane beelined for the kitchen sink, but finding it full, he huffed off to the bathroom, muttering, "Damn dishes are like part of the décor."

Before Bri could ask what happened, Chrissy took the first aid kit and set it on the counter. "Ed was messin' with Carol. Shane took care of it."

"Took care of it?"

"Mmhmm." Chrissy removed the items Shane might need, gauze pads and Neosporin if the skin broke, and pulled an Advil packet for herself. "I'm gonna see if Sophia can't bunk with us tonight, if that's fine?"

"I-That's fine, but what happened?" Bri marked her list and swept the items off the table to stock the cabinets above the sink. "Are you good?"

From nerves or pain, Chrissy wasn't sure, her knuckles had turned white from grasping her tee. She let it go. "I'll be fine." Opening a cabinet Bri just closed, Chrissy pulled out a granola bar, and slid into the far corner of the booth.

Shane stomped from the bathroom, toweling off his hands, and he surveilled the countertop and took what he needed. While patching up, he turned over his shoulder, "No shootin' today."

Bri coughed through her straw. "I figured, with that walker coming up here. Close one."

"Scary close." Chrissy agreed. "I'm glad I was walkin' near, and not Cory, he likes to hang thataways."

"Chris, you keep that knife on you, hear? Make sure he's got somethin', too. Don't want none of us gettin' caught off-guard again."

Chrissy promised she'd make sure Cory was prepared, but was certain her brother was smart enough to already be armed.

"Shane," Bri drummed her fingers on her thermos, pausing her work. "I want my hatchet back."

From his pause, Chrissy thought he would say no. Shane wound gauze around his knuckles, bit the end to separate it from the remaining roll, and tucked the edge snug in the corner. Rather than shut her down, he admitted, "Daryl took off with it when they were headin' out." Bri rolled her eyes. "We'll find you somethin' else."

"Okay. Sure, that works." Bri's tone didn't scream that it was okay, but Chrissy knew Bri wasn't emotionally attached to what she once used as a weapon.

With a huff, Shane cleared the kit and bloody napkins from the counter. "It's gonna have to work."

"I just said it would." Bri bit out, unzipping a brown backpack, then re-closing it with an exasperated sigh. Shit. Andrea's bag with a fresh bottle.

Shane stayed a moment longer, as if deciding whether an argument would be worth it. He clacked his tongue, and reached over Bri to crack the lid on her cup. Chrissy watched Bri's face go from annoyance to guilt when Shane sniffed at it, and back to annoyance as he closed the lid, and carried it away from the table and out of the RV.

Bri slung open the bag, in a violent way which ripped the zipper clean off. "Who brought this?"

 _You can't police what other people are drinking_. "Don't know. Might be Andrea's bag?"

"She should've been more careful." And Bri pulled out the bottle and set it to the side, not bothering to mark it on her list, as she did with the baby wipes, multitools, and battery packs.

"It's not a present, put it on the list."

Bri's brows cocked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"What's up with-- It's part of the supplies. We can use it for injuries, cleaning."

Jaw hanging slack, Bri's eyes asked _Are you fucking kidding me?_

"Shane just beat Ed half-to-death for hitting Carol." Chrissy dropped her voice. "Don't want that to be you."

Bri laughed humorlessly. "Shane's not gonna hit a woman."

"That's not what I meant."

"What then--" Whatever boiled beneath the surface hit a complete halt. She was full quiet when she said, "I'm not... I'm not gonna hit you."

"No." Chrissy's stomach lurched at seeing Bri's eyes brim with tears. "No, I don't think so but I don't want you getting that far. Like him."

"Like Ed?" Bri clarified.

The satisfaction Chrissy found in Ed's beating was gone, because honestly, it'd been pretty brutal, even being justified. Her uncle died in prison from long-term injuries sustained in a beatdown, and for all he'd done, he was family, and Chrissy still loved him a lot. She might not understand it in the same way Carol, or maybe even Sophia, did but she understood sticking by a person you love, even when they've given reasons not to.

"Sure, like Ed. Or, I don't know. You've been doing good, right? So just-- just keep doing that."

With a tearful sigh, Bri pulled the bottle from its snug position between two t-shirts, and handed it over before tucking her head between her arms, whether from emotion, or not wanting to know where Chrissy would place it. So Chrissy made a lap around the RV, opening and closing various cabinets and cupboards, before finding a home for the bottle beneath a bed in the back.

"You think we should grab the rest of your--"

"No."

 _Worth a shot_. "Okay."

Bri wrung out her wrists. "I'm trying. It's hard."

 _Try harder_. No. It would be a terrible thing to say, because Chrissy could totally see the difference in Bri from a month before and Bri who sat across from her. Her eyes were bleary with tears, but not bloodshot. Around her nose and cheeks were clear skin rather than the burst vessels which once roared red across her face. Consciously or not, Bri was sitting straighter, and before Chrissy and Shane interrupted her, she seemed to have full focus on her work. Even as her hands shook, Bri took it out with the pen, drumming it against the tabletop. Chrissy reached out to still her movement, and mustered a smile she hoped appeared genuine.

"I know."

Bri returned the smile, but slipped from Chrissy's grasp to get back to business, sniffing away the emotional distraction. Trying not to frown, Chrissy offered, "Amy was talkin' about maybe paintin' nails this afternoon. All the girls, if we finished chores." Bri only hummed, not seeming to see it was an invitation. "I'm free now, 'f you need anythin' done. So you can come later. I mean it's not like anyone will stop you if chores aren't done, but.." Chrissy laughed awkwardly.

Bri looked up with the glimmer of a glare, and Chrissy knew she wasn't welcome anymore, if she ever was. "You got your knife?" Chrissy nodded. "Me and Jim strung together a line to go by the Dixon's camp. Grab a partner and watch the area."

"Got it."

"Like Amy or someone." Bri clarified.

"Yeah, got it." Chrissy slid from the booth and wanted to say something to end on a better note, but all she could think of were the dumb questions she'd come up with while doing laundry, and asking Bri about her favorite books might make her snap. Whatever mood Bri was in, she prayed something would zap it soon. So without asking where the completed tin-can line was, or saying goodbye, Chrissy trudged out of the RV with a huff.

* * *

Cory let Jim dig holes for an hour before his speed and endurance started to worry him. And even though his Mom always said not to worry about grownups, Jim had been there for a while, not stopping. Throwing on a ballcap, Cory had walked up the hill to the flat acre of grass with a bottled water, where Jim was still going after the time it took to get there. It wasn't until Cory came close and saw the size and width of the holes that he realized they were graves, and that started to scare him.

"Jim." He'd said, then once again with more heft, in case he might not have heard him. "Jim!"

Stopping for no more than a second, Jim adjusting his cap, and hollered, "Best clear outta here."

"I brought water, if you need it." And not to make him angry, Cory rolled the bottle Jim's way, where it stoppered on the growing dirt pile. Jim didn't glance up again, just kept shoveling. "You're welcome." Cory muttered, but Jim wasn't phased by a speck of snark.

The trek down the hill was worse than going up it, because his sneakers kept slipping on dirt pockets, and the angle was too steep to walk slowly, so he jogged. He knew he would find Dale where he always was. Cory climbed the ladder, heaving once he reached the roof.

"Hey, kiddo." Dale paced back and forth, and Cory wasn't surprised he hadn't seen Jim, hidden behind the sparse trees.

"It's Jim." _Scaring the heck out of me_. But for bravery's sake, Cory said, "He's acting weird." He pointed up the hill. "I brought him some water, but he didn't want it."

Lifting his binoculars, Dale surveilled the flattop, while Cory wished he'd saved Jim's bottle for himself.

"How long's he been up there?"

"Since... I don't know. After Glenn left."

Dale stopped to consider it. "Tell you what, if he's still up there in a bit, I'll go check on him again, alright?" Cory nodded. "And son, you don't need to go anywhere without an adult. For your own protection."

Cory had given up his hammer to the toolkit, but he kept a pocketknife on him all the time. He was lucky he hadn't had to put down a walker since outside the city, but he would be ready and prepared if he had to again.

"'Course, Dale."

Chrissy was lurking outside the RV door when he hopped off the ladder.

"Hey, little man."

Twisting up his face and setting his jaw, Cory settled on, "Hello, Christine."

Instead of shooing him off like he kind of wished she would, she mimicked, " _Hello, Clarice_." She laughed to herself like there was a joke he was missing out on. "It's a movie, whatever-- do you wanna be my sidekick?"

She didn't need to act like he was a baby. "For what?"

"I'm gonna go set up a line, I'll need help." It's how Mom always said _sorry_ , too, by pretending whatever thing that needed apologizing for didn't happen. Not even water under the bridge. It was pretending like there was no water and no bridge in the first place.

It didn't mean he forgave her, but he pat his pocket to ensure the knife was still there, and forgoing Dale's advice-- but was Chrissy _not_ an adult, trying harder than most in the camp?-- Cory said _sure_ , and showed her to the truckbed where he'd last seen Jim working on the line.

While Chrissy spooled the line, Cory brought a bucket they could sit it in, so it wouldn't tangle. Everyone else had their own chores or were running to crowd around Sophia's dad, whose face was a mish-mash of purple lumps. It wasn't hard to slip off through the path between the tents and over to the Dixon's campsite. It was not so far away that a scream wouldn't carry, but it was far enough to get some peace and quiet.

Halfway there, Cory spit it out, just to say he said it. "You pissed me off."

"Pissed a lot of people off." She countered, and walked faster.

Cory hefted up the bucket to reposition it, and feeling brave, he said, "I think I matter the most. You should care what I think the most."

She ignored him. For inviting him to help, she didn't seem to want him around.

The Dixon's camp was pitiful, the tent unzipped with clothes strewn around it, due to Daryl's leaving so quick. From inside, there were little chattering noises.

"Leave it." Chrissy took the bucket and set it by the first tree. She unreeled the line one can at a time, having mostly avoided tangles, and Cory tied off the first end with a double knot he hoped would work. While pulling the rest of the cans from the bucket, one step at a time, Cory kept an ear out for sounds that weren't their own feet. The line was just long enough to loop around one tree, then be tied off at the other end.

"We'll need another one."

"Don't think they made another one yet. Yesterday was crazy." Chrissy said half-heartedly. "This'll work for now, Dixons aren't here and if they were, they can take care of themselves anyway."

Cory stood back, hands on his hips like a young foreman. "We should make another one, just in case."

"We don't have to. They're not our responsibility, so I'll do it if Bri asks, but I don't have to." She shrugged, collecting the bucket, and turning back up the trail.

"I think they should be safe"

Chrissy stopped and huffed. "Okay, do it yourself then."

"I will."

"Fine."

"Fine." Cory sighed. "You know, I care about the Dixons even if you don't."

She turned and snapped. "Okay, but the Dixons don't care about you."

"I don't want somethin’ bad to happen."

"Bad things happen. I don't want somethin’ bad to happen to you 'cause you're tryna save someone like Merle."

"I'm just trying to help." Even someone like Merle.

"Well, sometimes people don't need your help." Chrissy crossed her arms, closing in on herself.

That was hurtful, and Chrissy had to know it, because she just stood there. Cory sniffled. "Don't be mean to me."

"I'm not being mean--"

"You're being mean. I didn't do anythin'."

"I'm trying keep you safe." Chrissy didn't shout, but her voice steadily rose into a whisper-yell. "I'm trying to make sure you don't do somethin' stupid!"

Tears collected in Cory's eyes. "You can't keep me safe if you're not here."

"I'm in charge of us" Chrissy tossed down the bucket and huffed as it clattered. Her face twisted. "You can be mad, but I was out there, so they could see I could handle it. Just ask Andrea." She turned her head to her shoulder with a sniff, before leaning over to take a deep breath.

Cory whimpered, lanky arms droopy at his side. "You were freaking out, and you shouldn't've gone."

"I got through it. Amy or Bri-- they would have _freaked out_ way sooner. They'll give me a time-out, then I'll be back out there."

If Shane or Carl's dad had anything to do with it, Cory didn't think she would. She couldn't leave him again, because she was right that bad things happen. So what if something bad happened when she wasn't here-- at camp or in the city? She knew they were supposed to stick together, but made his chest hurt to fight, and he couldn't make himself raise his voice, even if she was.

"Okay." He settled on agreeing to disagree.

"--Okay? That's it?"

"Okay. Whatever. It's what Mom would want." It was true: Mom would want them to be badasses, and Dad would want them to find a grownup to take care of them. Of course it was supposed to be done together. Cory would just do what Dad would want. He picked up the bucket.

"That's all?" Chrissy's eyes grew more sad than angry.

Cory hugged the empty bucket to his chest, feeling like he might hurl into it. He had to think for a moment. He sniffed. "I don't want you out there. You don't have to, because other people will." Repeating what he'd heard before, he said, "You're not even going out there to be helpful, just to show off."

"Whatever." She yanked the bucket away, and trampled the forest floor towards camp.

_That's all?_

Alone in the clearing, he let curiosity take over, rather than sadness. With deliberate steps, he approached the open tent. He rustled the flap, paused, and heard the chattering continue. He made a clacking sound, hoping to draw the thing out, and maybe kill it to bring back. He'd have to lie about how far out he was, but it'd be impressive either way.

"Here..." he crouched by the flap. In the split second he reached for his pocketknife, the cans jangled, and a gray and white streak ran from the tent across the clearing and away from view.

The walker was long and scraggly, and his ripped pants caught on the wire, keeping him trapped in place. The only sounds were his scuffling feet and a low, long gargle, because its lower jaw was half-off, hanging by bloody muscle. It saw Cory, and Cory saw him.

"--Cory?" Chrissy's shriek burst the air as she flew past, knife up. She stabbed the walker up through its gaping jaw, into its brain; it's body fell forward on her, pulling her and the can-line down.

Running to help, the light weight of the body surprised Cory. Being able to touch the bones under its shredded clothing made him feel sick. They shoved it away together, and Chrissy collapsed onto her back, staring at the leaning trees until her chest shook.

Cory scrambled over, wrapping his arms around her center like he knew she would need. "I'm sorry."

"I thought you were right behind me."

"I'm sorry."

Chrissy muffled her cries behind her palm. "I'm so sorry."

They stayed for a second, and Cory wondered if someone would notice their absence. If he could be promised no walkers were lurking in the forest, he would love to explore. Instead, he held on to Chrissy while she cried, and hoped this would wash off whatever she was trying to be for the group; she was right that Cory and Chrissy came first. And that should be enough for everyone else.

The rope hadn't snapped, just untied.

"You have to do it like this." Chrissy sniffed, moving her hands to the side, showing Cory the same juvenile knot he'd first done.

Taking, the bucket from where she'd abandoned it, he said, "Looks good."

The separated at their tent; Chrissy's t-shirt had a goopy, gorey smear on it, and Cory wanted to make sure Jim was doing better. Tied to a tree with cables, Jim looked miserable and worn-out.

"Why's he tied up?" Cory asked, swinging the metal bucket.

"We were on the hunt for that--" Shane plucked it from his hands. "Jim's just coolin' off for a bit. We're makin' sure he's alright."

Sliding onto the leaves and gravel, Cory sat crisscross, mirroring Jim. "You feel alright?" He parroted.

"Better." He croaked. "I'm doin' better. Brought me to my senses. I'm sorry if I scared you earlier."

"No, that's fine. Just makin' sure you're fine."

"I'm good. I'm fine." Jim chuckled, promising. "Where'd you get that cap? Were you wearin' it earlier?"

"I was. It's Louis's," he admitted his theft, "but Louis wasn't out tryin' to make sure you were okay."

"That's true."

Shane returned with the full bucket. "Cory, I heard you were a fish-slicin' aficionado. Wanna show off your skills?"

 _Nope_. Sitting in silence with Jim was preferable, but Shane nudged him gently. Carl and Sophia had already leapt from their schoolwork, waiting and bouncing with energy.

"Sophia knows how."

"I'm not as good, though."

Without access to his hands, Jim nodded his head, "Go on, son."

 _Wish I could be that happy about fish_. Cory pulled himself up and followed after them to the big pot and the cooking knives. Thank God Amy and Andrea were hanging around too, because he didn't trust himself to be the sole chef in camp, and was frankly worried, in the strange division of work they had going on, that he might very well end up in charge of it all. At least it was a good distraction.

* * *

Bri pulled the headache routine: finishing the supplies list, and dozing off in the back bedroom in the RV, she stayed there into the afternoon. Amy woke her with a pat on the back.

"Chrissy told me to send Soph and Eliza, but Dale let them dig into the marshmallows we were saving for tonight, and they are hopped up on sugar. Consider me the nicest person you've ever met."

She kind of was. "Time?"

"Just three-ish. Girl time. I promise I will paint your nails for you and you just have to sit there. Please."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up."

"Better be, c'mon. You'll go first, because they'll choose whatever color you choose, because whatever you might believe, they think you're super cool."

"We have a wide selection?"

"An array of pinks and a purple-blue-ish. Just what I had in my bag."

Bri stilled in the RV's doorway, feeling the dread again. Probably just not having a drink near. Amy touched her arm, and Bri shook herself off. "Got an obnoxious hot pink?"

Amy grinned ear-to-ear. "That's the spirit."

Chrissy, Sophia, and Eliza were already in Chrissy's tent, and had folded away the sleeping bags, leaving bare tarp beneath them in case anything spilled.

"My favorite is the light pink." Sophia messed around with the bottles, clanking them together, making sounds like teacups.

"Is that your favorite color?" Amy spread out the little nail kit, and Bri wandered about the sanitation of sharing with four others.

"No, it's yellow."

Bri offered, "I'll tell Glenn to look for some, next time he's out."

"A purpley-red for me-- please." Eliza requested, as she situated her doll with care against a pillow.

Bri wouldn't remember that, but smiled and said, "Of course."

Chrissy tilted her head from across the tent, in a way meaning _you are full of shit_. Bri flashed a winning smile in response, catching Sophia's eye.

"Do y'all have inside jokes?"

Chrissy deadpanned. "Yes."

"Yeah, for sure." Bri said, but couldn't think of a time Chrissy had made her laugh.

"I can't wait til I'm older." Eliza said, "It'll be fun."

Bri swallowed hard, but didn't want ruin their energy. "Don't rush it-- grownups don't often get their nails done with their friends."

"My mom never does." Sophia stated.

"When I'd go with my mom--" Chrissy stopped herself. "well, I always really liked the home improvement shows they played in the salon. Weird, huh."

"I miss HGTV." Amy sighed. She threw a pack of wet wipes into the circle. "I know your hands are probably gross, so y'all can do the grunt work. Underneath the nails."

Amy was right, Chrissy's hands were nasty, like Chrissy seemed to forget that was something she was supposed to do.

Sophia crumbled her wipe in disgust. "I need to remember to do that more."

Despite a lack of personal hygiene, Chrissy had a steady hand and took care of Sophia's nails, while Amy did Eliza's. Knowing damn well her hands wouldn't still long enough to paint her own, Bri cleaned her cuticles, and filed them into quasiuniform shapes. The girls-- well, Sophia, Eliza, and Amy-- chatted about school dances and the nicest dresses they'd owned; Sophia had only been to one school dance and said it was magical, while Amy described the more whimsical elements of her senior prom, trailing off when she approached discussion of the afterparties with a sly smirk at Bri.

"How was your prom?"

Sputtering out a laugh, Bri bit the inside of her cheek. They were more or less fun but not appropriate for this crowd. "I went to a couple different ones... mostly with guys who agreed to buy dinner after in exchange for a date. So they were all hit-or-miss, y'know."

Amy laughed. "Guys lining up out the door, huh? How about you, Chrissy?"

Still picking her nails and poking at her nailbeds with unpracticed hands, Chrissy shrugged. "I didn't like the dancing. But dressing up and hanging out after was fun."

"Maybe you're just a bad dancer." Bri was comfortable enough to joke.

" _No_." Chrissy insisted, adding even, "I'm a great dancer. Just thought it was, like, weird. With parents watching and stuff."

Amy chimed. "Yeah, it's not as weird in high school. Most of the teacher's don't really care what happens on the dance floor."

They kept back and forth; Sophia and Eliza asking questions about landmark events, most of which Amy would gladly answer, and Bri would chime in, but Chrissy, who tended to brightened herself up for the younger girls, stayed silent and copied Sophia in messing with the polish bottles until it was her turn. After Amy applied the first coat, Chrissy soon forgot she was waiting for them to dry, and went to adjust her shirt, leaving a sticky streak of the ugly purple polish across her tee; she offered a curt apology, but Amy wasn't phased, cleaning the nailbeds and filling in the gaps.

The younger girls soon became antsy, and with Amy's approval, they left the tent to show off their paint-jobs. Them being gone left Amy to string the discussion along, wanting to know juicy details of Bri's escapades, but sparing any explicit questions for Chrissy's sake.

Bri couldn't have painted her own nails, but Amy had trouble, too, ultimately deciding Bri could live with only one coat of paint.

"Doin' it for you anyways." Bri said with a smile. "It's your call."

She thought Amy might cry. "That's so sweet. I know you're not into this, but it's like, the best present."

"Present?"

"Yeah... for my birthday. I told Chrissy this was my birthday get-together. Doing something fun for us." Knowing that fact would have made Bri pretend to have a little more fun.

"Forgot to say. Sorry." Chrissy was already picking at her polish.

Amy swatted her hand away. "Stop that-- it's totally okay, this is my present to me. Seeing you guys-- or, well, the younger ones at least-- being happy in all this... I wish y'all got a kick out of it like they did, but it's good to hang out and feel normal."

Having crossed her arms and tucked away her hands, a conscious effort not to ruin the polish immediately, Chrissy said, "We'll sing "Happy Birthday" at dinner, tonight."

" _Oh, no_ , please don't do that. I don't even know if my birthday is today or tomorrow or passed already. I just, wanted to do something to mark it. And I did so-- there, I'm happy."

Bri wished she was so easily pleased.

"You didn't invite Andrea?" Chrissy asked.

"Could Andrea sit and listen to them for an hour?"

 _Not without a drink_. But Bri had, without a drink, listened to an hour of chatter, and seeing how it made Amy's birthday be slightly more real, Bri decided there was no use being annoyed. Amy sniffed away her happy tears, and after a moment, seeming irked, Chrissy excused herself to check on Cory.

Both of their birthdays came and went without a word. But Bri supposed she wouldn't say anything when her birthday came along either, not when the kinder members of their group would insist on using extra resources they didn't have in order to make the day a bit nicer. Nail polish was expendable, even though it would chip off soon with their physical labor. But it made it made Amy happy, and that was good enough.

"I'm serious. Thanks for sitting through it." She sniffed. "It's my first birthday without my parents. And of course Andrea cares, but she doesn't show it in the same way my Mom would."

"Me and Mom got our nails done for my birthday when I was like... twelve, maybe. She just listened to me ramble about school and stuff, and whether or not she cared about it, I thought it was nice of her. After that there was always some reason we couldn't go do it again,--I think she was just ticklish-- but she would always make a good meal and listen. Even when we didn't talk too much in between."

Amy wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "I was talking to Andrea this morning about them. I want to think they're okay somewhere, like we've got here. I want them to be safe, but I've got a feeling in my gut. Andrea's never been optimistic, and I want to even it out with being hopeful, but I don't think--" she bent her head, busying herself with cleaning up the items from her kit. "I don't want to sit with that feeling, and I don't want it to be a waiting game."

Bri hadn't been able to shake a similar feeling. "I don't want to expect every day to be bad, and to just let myself be relieved when it isn't awful."

"That walker this morning just slipped in. And I don't think it's safe here anymore. But in the back of my mind I feel like our parents could come looking for us, if they could, and I don't want to get too far from Atlanta if they..."

They both knew the unlikelihood of her parents making the trek. Having two children so far apart meant both of her parents were in their mid-sixties; Amy joked plenty about being a happy accident.

"We shouldn't just sit and wait for someone to come who isn't coming. But I don't know what the answer is."

Bri took Amy's wrist lightly, careful of her own polish. "It's a lot to think about on your birthday." As if the search for those answers didn't always lurk in the back of Bri's mind. "I think you should give me another coat, and I will regale you with my hits-and-misses."

It took a few attempts at jokes to lighten Amy's mood as the two didn't quite share the same sense of humor, but content of the stories tickled her enough to shake the cloudy weather. The tales included her actual high school's junior prom in where a friend spiked the punch with liquid laxative; there was the dance out of town where she was promised a nice dinner and movie vouchers and was instead brought to a CiCi's Pizza where her date dine-and-dashed and she ended up hooking up with the CiCi's manager in the back of his Crown Vic; her personal favorite was when her date, a cousin of a friend's friend, and a group of his friends dragged her along to set off a fire in an empty mall after he was fired from an American Eagle and they spent the next twelve hours concocting a cover story before Bri got tired and ratted them out. Amy didn't know which ones were supposed to be the bests and which ones were the worsts, but they made her laugh.

"You sure were popular." she said with humored concern. "I don't know about the people you were popular _with_ , though."

Blowing at her nails, Bri shrugged, "Not popular at all. Saying it out loud makes them seem less interesting, but they were like, earth-shattering when they happened." Being drunkish and half-present will do that. "I got free CiCi's for like a month, and CiCi's isn't bad when you're expecting CiCi's, and not, like, something gourmet."

"I'll bet. The punch at my senior prom was spiked and a bunch of football players couldn't walk at graduation because of it, and that was massive drama."

"I thought they were just pourin' some booze, but imagine my surprise when people just start bolting for the bathroom."

It was dumb and stupid, and they needed something dumb and stupid to laugh about. Any of Bri's craving and any of her dread slipped away for however long they spoke, and without censoring themselves for the younger girls, they tapped into full-belly laughs that had seemed like something left in the past. Bri felt more juvenile sitting with Amy than with a group of preteens; trying to stifle laughter with pillows and trying not to smear polish. It couldn't make Bri forget the world ended, but it was a welcome sigh following weeks of bated breath.

* * *

Cory was by Jim's side when Chrissy left Bri and Amy alone, and not wanting to interrupt her brother and his mentor-- friend?-- and not wanting to interrupt girl talk, Chrissy found herself beside Dale, setting out plates and napkins for everyone. Respectful of her nails, which Dale had complimented in his way, Chrissy set out the items with care, and made sure not to stop herself from chipping away at the polish.

Dale called out that dinner was ready, and Bri and Amy left the tent soon after, both all smiles. It's not like Chrissy celebrated her own birthday, granted she didn't tell anyone about it, and though she was glad Amy could find something simple to be happy about, it didn't seem like Amy had a hard time doing that. It was Bri's smile, after the anger or annoyance she'd given off when Chrissy talked to her in the morning, that comforted Chrissy most. She seemed all there, and didn't smell like alcohol either, when they'd sat in the tent, so her joy, which had to be real because she didn't try to fake it, made Chrissy resolved in what she'd said before. Maybe there was an unconscious part of Bri's brain wanting to get better. If giving up her booze for the camp's sake wouldn't work, maybe hanging out with Amy and mooching off her optimism would help turn the tide.

Fish wasn't a new meal in camp, but Amy and Andrea had been particularly lucky in the morning, reeling in enough for everyone to eat their fill, rather than the bare minimum.

Shane sighed. "Man, oh, man, that's good. I miss this."

"Pass the salt." Bri swallowed. From the scrunching of her nose, she was not a fan. "And whatever else we've got."

Setting her own plate on the large, flat stones which contained the fire pit, Jacqui grabbed the caddy where Dale had stored the last spices. Salt shakers weren't on the list of essentials, and despite the benefits of fresh meat, between the fish and wild animals, everyone recognized the precious quality-boost a dash of pepper could give.

"I miss ketchup." Cory lamented aloud, and Carl and Louis shared similar sentiments.

Chrissy accepted the caddy as it was passed to her, and handed it to Bri. "Mmm. Uncle B used to make that dijon tuna salad, remember?"

"Yeah, it was gross." Cory seemed content with his salt-and-peppered tuna, but Chrissy longed to have that recipe. She wondered if it would be impossible to make nowadays.

"Any sort of flavor goes a long way." Jacqui turned to Cory and Andrea, who'd done the grunt work when Amy and Sophia slipped off for the salon. "Not to discredit our wonderful chefs."

Cutting into her own slab of fish, settling on using a fork for manners' sake, Chrissy agreed it could pack a bigger punch, but wasn't inedible.

Amy decided, "We need to find some sort of seafood cookbook."

Being more or less in charge of runs in Glenn's absence, Morales nodded, "Get a new list together. When Glenn gets back, I think we should plan for a run to some suburbs, out of the way, not in the heart of the city. If we didn't think to take our cookbooks, most people probably didn't."

"I went through the inventory today, so I don't know what we don't have that we need, but I know what we're low on. I can start on that." Bri offered, and Chrissy couldn't say there weren't flashes of quickly covered shock; Chrissy could see Bri trying in her own private way, but her extending a service that wasn't busy-work meant her naysayers, namely Dale and Andrea for as much as Chrissy liked them, had less ammo against her where whining was concerned.

Morales' grin acknowledged this as useful. "Tomorrow morning we'll compare notes?"

"You got it." Bri dumped a bit more pepper than was necessary, and chopped it into the mush she made of her fish.

Silence fell as the group dug in. Ed's absence was noticed, but undiscussed; Shane was in a pleasant mood, and Carol and Sophia ate around the fire with the rest of their crew. It was the first time Chrissy saw Carol smile and didn't look afraid of someone being mad at her for being happy.

"I gotta ask you, man." Morales finally said, looking towards Dale. "It's been driving me crazy."

"What?"

"That watch."

"What's wrong with my watch?"

"I see you every day, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass."

"I've wondered this myself." Jacqui said.

Dale chuckled. "Well-- time... it's important to keep track, isn't it? The days at least."

No one seemed to agree; with the world ending, all concept of time was out the window. But it made sense.

"I like-- I like what father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said, _I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father's before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you may forget it for a moment, now and then, and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it._ "

His words didn't make sense to Chrissy, much less to anyone else, and it was like English class when the teacher would ask for what the author was trying to say, but every answer she would choose was wrong. Dale seemed to mean that keeping time was important.

Amy chuckled. "You are so weird."

"It's not me--" Dale explained, "It's, uh, Faulkner. William Faulkner. Maybe my bad paraphrasing."

They fell into silence again. Dale's stories could be-- convoluted was the word Chrissy's dad would use after her mom would come home spouting off lawyerly rhetoric about the day's work. Following the timelines she threw around were a lot like trying to follow Dale's tales. Though he meant well, and it kind of made sense.

Amy slipped from the circle to use the restroom, and the younger boys talked between themselves about a raccoon Cory saw earlier in the day.

Bri sipped from a clear water bottle like it was proof of good behavior. "I don't know if you've seen the map I gave Glenn--" Morales, realizing she was speaking to him, affirmed he knew of it. "--but I think it's probably in need of some updating. I'm not sure if he's been checking off areas."

"He has notes all over it." Chrissy said, thinking of how Rick had the map last, and for its sentimental value to Bri, Chrissy would chew his ass out if something happened to it.

Morales nodded, "I know he's added areas, but he hasn't had the chance to recheck anything. We should keep nearby, though, for a while. Low risk trips."

"Yeah," Bri agreed, "as long as we know where the bigger groups are--"

A shriek broke the quiet conversation.

Outside the RV, Amy was bowled over, as a trio of walkers drifted around the right side of the vehicle, with a half-dozen approaching from the other side.

Chrissy's gut plummeted.

A nightmare on legs, like an film, it wasn't real that the swarm broken into their peaceful camp. The next thought was her brother. She scrambled to watch her own back and find where he'd slipped away to-- beside Jacqui, who huddled him near Miranda and her children. Shane was ready with a shotgun, and Dale gripped his own weapon.

Weapon-- she'd left her knife in her tent when changing from her bloody clothes, to cover her being away from camp. A grip on her arm made her blood run cold; Morales pulled her to the children and running past with a handgun.

"--Give me your knife!" She had to holler it twice for Cory to hear over blood-curdling screams, but he passed it over. No time to be told off for stepping up.

She would have to be close to use such a small blade, and it couldn't phase her and wouldn't because walkers were converging around the fire pit and there was no time to think. The eyes made easy targets, rather than stabbing without aim. There was no kill-count, only a pointed focus on creating a several foot radius around the children clear from walkers.

"Get to the RV! Go!"

She ducked beneath grasping arms and kicked to the side, dropping the corpse to its knees for easiest access. Trying to corral the kids with Jacqui, and keep walkers off meant approaching some threats, pushing away others, and finding a medium between the options, while clearing a safe route.

With her back to the group, walking up the slope, Chrissy surveilled the damage done, only distracted from the dead by further growling around the side of the RV. Errant gunshots made her keep her head ducked, as she peered around the corner. The space between the RV and the half-stripped sports car was enough for one walker to trickle out at a time.

She stabbed the first, and pushed its dead weight onto the second, forcing it to trip and lean forward, revealing its full, balding skull. It was the easiest way, letting them pile up, with enough time between to check over her shoulder.

Additional fire flew in behind Chrissy, as her corner dried up, and she ran to join the others in cover. Beneath the awning, she was away from the gunfire, and able to keep a watch on both sides of the RV.

Gunshots roared on as Jacqui ushered Cory over, with his blubbering face which refused to let tears fall. He wrapped his arms around his sister's stomach, tight enough to hide himself away.

The cavalry's arrival made quick work to dispatch the dead, but left no less carnage. Soon gunfire was replaced with panting, pacing, and waiting, listening for any last walkers to peel themselves from the trees.

The thing to make Chrissy notice her own tears was Bri's shaky and streaked face. Raising her palm to wipe her own eyes, she saw less pale palm and more goopy black-red brain matter. Chrissy pinched her shirt between two fingers, and scrubbed the tears with its clean inside lining. Bri came nearer to them with a bloody bat in hand, and dropped it to check them for injuries. Seeing they were fine, she wrapped an arm around each. Cory needed a place to hide, and Chrissy did, too, finding the dip of Bri's clavicle suffice enough. Bri seemed to tuck herself away, too, as Amy wheezed and coughed under Andrea's shaking hands.

Neither looked at the scene. It was selfish, wanting to not see another good person pass before her eyes. Andrea's howling of her sister's name marked the time of death. The cry came from her gut which made Chrissy wince. She felt the same pain when seeing her parents' last moments, before ending it for real. And she hadn't let the pain go, being in a neighborhood with so many dead. She wouldn't let it out now, not being so fearful a second round of walkers could come upon them. But she felt it, rising in her chest. Letting it out might make the new world real, actually real-- not just her own world crumbling around her, but the entire world and everyone else's worlds, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was in a big funk but now i am here
> 
> pour one out for our homegirl
> 
> i can not wait for them to leaving this fucking camp lmaoo
> 
> happy holidays!


	8. Jim

Jim had a dream: that's why he dug the holes. Something inside his mind felt the clock ticking on their secluded set-up, same as Bri, same as Amy. As the sun rose, Shane told Bri he'd been feeling as much. After standing for hours, through bursts of exhaustion, Bri filled in graves. The sooner they cleared the camp, the better. Once he completed the additional graves, Shane prepared to return to the RV to find an energy drink to power through the coming day; he suggested Bri get some shut-eye with the kids, who'd long since laid down in the safety of the church van.

"You're not lettin' anybody down by taking a break for a bit." Shane led her gently down the steep hill. "Fact is, you've done more'n enough."

She wasn't scared of letting anybody down. No, Bri was scared, downright terrified, of walking past the RV and catching a glimpse of Amy's body, rotting away under Andrea's vigil. The discomfort of public mourning wasn't what had Shane on edge; Andrea hadn't done her sister the kindness of putting her down. She was refusing to.

When they neared the RV and Bri's head turned to Amy-- no, Amy's body-- like one turns to stare at a crash site, Shane's hand came to cradle her head to his shoulder. A motion sharp enough to pull her eyesight from the corpse, and tender enough to make tears itch behind her eyes.

The wavering between alert and exhausted and desperately needing a drink and knowing her dead friend was just lying there was reason enough to sob. She tried to explain herself, but the only thing to came out was a garbled attempt at placing the heavy silence into words. Bri smothered a cry on the back of her hand.

"I know. Yeah. I know." Shane's comfort came after a moment of hesitation. He laid a hand on her arm, not trying to invade her space. "You're overtired. Better head in."

A wheeze escaped her lips liked it'd been traps for ages. "Y'all still need help."

"And you should be around when they wake up." Squeezing her arm, he stayed with her until she calmed.

Chrissy wasn't asleep; instead she sat at the back of the bus in the seats which hadn't been removed, drawing something abstract on the wall a magic marker. Her head swung around, but seeing Bri wasn't a threat, she turned and switched markers, shading in whatever shape she'd made.

"Get some sleep." Bri rasped. If Chrissy was up it meant she'd never gone down. Bri didn't receive a verbal response, but as she dozed off, the van creaked and blankets shuffled. In the last fluttering of her eyes, Bri saw Chrissy curled in the corner nearest to her brother and Sophia, keeping watch.

The van woke later to a single gunshot. Chrissy hauled herself out of the van, with Bri stumbling on her trail. From the huddle outside of the van, cautious and curious, it was plain to see Andrea's gun forgotten at her side, hands smoothing Amy's hair tenderly over the large exit wound in her skull. Whether Andrea had finally decided to take care of it, or if Amy came back, Bri didn't want to know.

Glenn stayed close to her; every time they hauled another body into the cab of Daryl's truck, he would check on her, as if in the minute between lifting one body and lifting another, one of them could've been not-so-dead and bitten her. She brushed it off as him making sure she wasn't going the way of Amy, who's body Andrea insisted on loading up with Dale so the younger pair wouldn't mess anything up. He mentioned Jim's bite from the attack, and Bri's chest managed to sink even deeper.

Glenn turned the engine of Daryl's truck as Bri slid into the passenger's seat. "They're saying that the CDC might be the best option for him."

"What-- I don't see anyone drivin' to the CDC now. If he's gonna get help, he's gotta get it now."

"Shane and Rick were going back and forth about it, wondering what would be still up and running, between there and Fort Benning."

"Anybody consider there's probably nothing still runnin'? Nobody's out lookin' for us, and maybe that's 'cause they're tryin' to keep places runnin', but two months? Maybe I liked the idea of Fort Benning a month ago, but..." Wiping sweat from her eyes, Bri sighed. "If there's nothing out there, we gotta make it on our own. And if there's somethin' out there, and they haven't been lookin' for us, I don't know if that's where we need to be."

"You're probably right." Glenn turned up the hill. "I'll follow along wherever we end up. The kids need an extra set of eyes on them anyway."

"Are people sayin' they won't leave?"

Glenn hesitated. "Mo mentioned maybe not going on with us. They have family they want to try and find. And even if that's true, I think Rick and Shane have butt heads too much too quickly for comfort. And after last night..."

"I trust Shane enough. I don't know Rick."

After pulling into the graveyard and making a U-turn, Glenn backed into an area off the trail, sighing, "I trust Shane. I think we can trust Rick, I mean who here would go after Merle? I didn't jump at the chance. He's a good person, I think."

Bri gripped the door handle with a disheartened huff. "Not wanting to go after Merle doesn't make you a bad person." And if that was the bar for 'goodness', she had a hell of a ways to go to be 'good'.

The surviving members of camp trailed behind the truck. Morales and Daryl were to take over filling in the remaining graves, allowing Rick and Shane to rest.

"I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right?" Daryl tugged on his gloves with dramatic effort. "Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"

"At first." Shane agreed, reluctantly surrendering his shovel and stepping back.

"The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow him along?" Daryl took the shovel from Shane. "These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are."

Rick's stance became defensive. "There are no rules."

"Well, that's a problem." Lori gripped her son's shoulder. "We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do."

Though neither Rick or Shane, nor Daryl who huffed and shooed the men away, seemed to agree, Bri figured Lori was right. Lori, and those who needed to mourn, could mourn their loses. Anyone like Bri, who was avoiding bawling her eyes out again, could figure out the moves forward. Bri already thought about needing a sort of protocol, and maybe it could be part of her job. Something else she could make up, something with merit.

The men lowered the rest of the bodies into the fresh graves. When it came time to put away Amy, Dale helped Andrea haul her sister from the truck to the hole, and, in his kind way, let her take charge, dictating where to set her.

Bri couldn't watch Andrea slip on the dirt of her sister's grave, not as Bri willed herself not to think about her own dead sibling, to no avail. Glenn's arm hung loose around her back, and Bri ducked her head into his shoulder; walking away from the gravesite would make a bigger scene than sniffling until she could breakdown alone somewhere. This was Andrea's loss to mourn.

* * *

Carol wouldn't let Cory into the RV, so he lurked outside the door with a scowl comparable only to his older sister. But nothing could scare Carl away, not one damn thing.

"Don't wanna run around today." Cory muttered, but slid over on the pop-out steps.

"I wasn't gonna ask." Shoving a tennis ball in his pocket, Carl sat. "You never wanna run around anyway."

There were tracks of blood, some red and brown and some red and black, crisscrossing in front of the RV, but at least the bodies were gone. Even though it was technically a road, with rocks instead of pavement, would Shane let the grass keeping growing so it would cover the blood? There was water in the quarry so maybe they could use some kind of pressure washer. Or maybe they would just leave the blood there as a reminder and deal with it, the same way they dealt with blood-stained clothes and always having weapons nearby.

"I can keep you company today, though." Carl said. "Louis can't be away from his mom anymore."

Resting his elbows on his knees and chin in his palms, Cory shrugged, "I'm just waitin' to see Jim."

"Before he dies?" Carl asked sadly.

"Yeah, before he dies."

"We can save him, if we go to the CDC."

Carl's dad spread the idea to everyone, and it made sense for Carl to believe it, too. But Carl's dad just woke up from a coma, and Cory was pretty sure he didn't know squat.

Not wanting to talk about the what-ifs, or really about Jim at all, Cory said shortly, "He's been bit awhile, so I don't know."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Carol won't let me in."

"He's kind of like a dad to you now, I'm sorry."

"He's not like a dad." Cory snapped. "He's like a friend."

Carl fell silent until he began bouncing his knees, heels hammering against the steps. He stopped when Cory kicked him. After his wince of pain broke the quiet, Carl felt compelled to speak again, this time about a book he read in school the year before. Cory was more interested in Carl's half-accurate recollection of _A Wrinkle in Time_ , which was one of Chrissy's bedtime stories until she got too old for them, than in picking at his cuticles while waiting for news about Jim.

Lori came to shoo them away when the sun was at its highest. "Theodore needs help gettin' water from the quarry, y'all can team up." Carl was quick to jump to the task, but Cory stayed looking at a bloody track on the ground. "You need to get some food in you, Cory."

Chewing on his lip kept him distracted through the morning, but Lori's reminder forced him to feel the growl in his stomach. Reluctantly, he stood, "Can I bring somethin' in for Jim?"

With a long sigh, she agreed, but he would have to show her his own empty plate first.

In five minutes, Cory was back with a three quarters empty can. "He don't need much. But he needs somethin'." Lori was more anxious than when he'd left, and fear swept over him. "He dead?"

"What?" Rubbing her shoulder, Lori's face was so lost that Cory wasn't certain of her words, nor of Carl's conviction that Rick had a good plan. "No, honey, um, let me talk to Carol."

With bated breath, Cory pulled his legs to his chest and waited on the steps.

Lori ducked her head out of the RV. "He's awake. He might say some crazy things. That's just the illness talking, alright?"

Dad said weird stuff before he died, too, things which didn't make a lot of sense. But Chrissy and Mom hadn't made him leave the room, so how bad could Jim be?

Carol warily whispered to Lori, "He's been in and out of it."

Careful of Jim's feet, Cory settled on the edge of the bed. He felt the two mothers still standing behind him, not going to leave him alone in the back room. It was both annoying and comforting.

"Hi."

Trying for a smile, Jim nodded to him. "Cory."

Carol sucked in a breath and leaned to Lori. "Been asking for his sons, I didn't know if he'd realize..."

Cory held out the can.

"No, no, no food for a dead man."

Cory reached the can closer to Jim. "We're gon' try to get you help. So you gotta eat."

"Bein' pushy, now? That's good. Got all that skill, now ya need that gumption." Jim's laugh turned into a grating cough, and Carol rushed to hold a bucket to his chest. Bloody spit splattered against the white of the pot. Lori's hand pulled Cory into the small hallway for a moment, to keep out of the way. While Carol wiped a washcloth across his face, Jim leaned into the pillows, head tilted back with his eyes closed. Lightly shrugging Lori off, Cory took Carol's place at Jim's side. "You pay attention to your sister. It'd do you well to be like her."

Jim's breath got shallow, only coming out in little wheezes. Panic and lunch funneled up Cory's throat and with trembling lips, his face went to Lori; that couldn't be it, could it?

"He's passed out, Cory." Waving him towards her, Lori took the can. "Let's make sure Bri's had somethin', been working all day."

"Can I just sit for a bit?"

A look passed between the mothers.

"You be helpful to Carol, do as she says."

"'Course."

Helpful meant switching out the water and rags for Jim, and for Carol's comfort, sitting at the kitchen table every time Jim woke up, just in case he lashed out again or started talking crazy. Thank goodness it only happened once, because mostly when he woke up, he asked for water or called out the names of his sons with a croaky cry. When he wasn't so lucid, Carol slid close the parting door, but Cory could still hear the ramblings that didn't make a lick of sense. The rest of the time, Jim slept fitfully, and Cory organized the lower cabinets in the kitchenette until Carol called him over again.

"He was asking for you." Carol ushered him in with boney hands.

Jim wasn't propped up, but tucked tight under more blankets than before, body wracked with feverish chills. Before he looked sick, but now it was too clear that he was dying. He looked like every dying person from every movie with dying people, and it felt less real because of it.

"Hi." Cory said again.

"Y'come to say goodbye?" Jim rasped, pulling one arm loose from his quilt. He didn't remember Cory had been there before.

Tears were coming on, prickling beneath Cory's lashes. Cory didn't want to come back and Jim have forgotten again, so he said, "Yeah."

"Been a big help to me and Dale, so you should keep on helpin' him, alright?" Jim held out his hand, and it was ice cold as Cory took it. "And your sister. You mind her, and do what she says."

"I will." Was all Cory could say.

"And you learn how to fight. So you'll be ready for anything."

"I will."

"Y'don't gotta cry over me."

"I won't." Cory's free hand swiped at obvious tears, and he sniffed, "But I'll miss you."

"It'll be okay." Jim squeezed his hand lightly, probably as much as he could. "You gotta be smart, and you're already pretty damn smart." Cory gave a nervous, pitiful sound meant to be laughter. "You'll be okay."

"I'll try."

"So long as you're tryin', you will be."

Cory didn't know if he really got what Jim meant, but Jim seemed sure of his words, and he was fully present, looking Cory in the eyes.

Cory wrapped his arms around Jim the best he could, and as gingerly as he could. Jim winced, but with his free arm, brought Cory closer. Just one more second, Cory thought, for each second he stayed there, because Jim could only get worse, and Cory wasn't going to come back and see him again. Into Jim's shoulder Cory said, "Goodbye, Jim."

Jim took a few more seconds, too, before squeezing one last time and letting go. "Goodbye, Cory."

Cory pulled himself away with the strength he could muster, and gave Jim one last wave. Crying silently in the doorway, Carol reached for his hand, and Cory accepted it and allowed her to lead him out, okay for once with being treated like a child.

* * *

If they cared about what was going to happen to Jim, Rick and Shane wouldn't have had a day-long pissing contest.

Daryl's incessant pacing around the circle amped Bri's nerves to the highest power. At one point in the afternoon, Chrissy's hand wrapped around Bri's wrist to still the shaking, half-clenched fists. Watching her brother lurk outside of the RV, just waiting for Jim to die, Chrissy hadn't let go since.

Shane finally stepped up, but paused to formulate his words for the staring crowd. Bri wondered if she could sack up enough to tell him how stupid it was to sit around doing nothing.

Chrissy asked, more calm, but just as biting as Bri would hope she herself could be, "There a plan?"

Swiping a hand across his face, Shane bit his tongue. "Yeah, yes, Chris, we're making a plan."

"And are we goin' through with it before or after Jim dies? 'Cause he's only got so long, and there's only so much light."

Situating his hands on his hips, Shane nodded. "Exactly, not enough light for tonight."

"It's, what, four?" Bri looked to Dale and his damn watch. The old man nodded. "Jim's been bit for... sixteen, seventeen hours? I don't know how long it's supposed to take but..."

"My dad was bit on the arm, got bandaged up and was gone in four or five hours." Chrissy offered. "Mom lost all this blood, was so delirious, but hung on a little less than a day. I think it just depends."

Shane softened at Chrissy's admission, and he and Rick held a silent conversation above their heads.

Bri said to Shane, "Jim told me there's already supplies split between the cars. Wouldn't take long to pack everything. We could be on the road before sundown."

Rick stood to join Shane. "Unless Glenn has a route cleared thataways, we'd be travelin' blind."

Half-hopeful, Bri turned, but Glenn shook his head. Bri ran her free hand over her cheek. "Times just tickin' for him. I hate considering there might be somethin' out there to help, then doin' nothin' to get him to it."

"Could he even make the journey? He's gotta have eyes on him at all times." Jacqui wondered.

Lori sniffed. "Each time he goes to sleep, I figure that's it. But he's hangin' on."

"Keeping him comfortable now might be the only option. The only viable one." T-Dog said, kneading the handle of a baseball bat. "Ain't heard of anyone goin' more than a day with a bite."

Dale waved his arm to quell the discussion. "Jim is going to die. Tonight, or tomorrow, but say he dies tonight? Is the CDC still on the table?" He asked. "Because right now, he's the reason we'd take that road. So, where are we without him?"

"It's a road worth exploring, regardless, I believe that." Rick insisted.

Shane nodded, seemingly in spite of himself. "Look, I believe that Fort Benning could be what we need. But it's far, it is, and there are no guarantees either way, I'll be the first one to admit that." He sighed. "I've known Rick a long time. I trust his instincts. I think checking off our options in this neck of the woods is the best plan we got. I say we pack up everything but the necessities now, take care of the rest tomorrow, then we leave first thing in the morning."

"Someone's gotta sit with Jim. Put him down, before he turns." Chrissy reminded.

"I got it. It'll give me somethin' to do." Bri said, rubbing the hand still wrapped around her wrist.

T-Dog shook his head. "Gotta be able to put him down." He added, clarifying, "You shouldn't have to."

"Neither should you."

"No one should have to." Lori interjected. "But someone's got to."

"Nobody slept through the night." T-Dog held up his hands. "I'll take the first shift. If somebody crashes in the RV, I can wake them after a few hours."

Their moods were hardly high enough they could be soured, but the discussion and the uncertainty dredged up the little food Bri had during the day. She couldn't stay focused to stick around in the looping conversation of different paths they might take, not without feeling sicker and dying for a drink. Without dinner, Chrissy trudged to their tent, Bri preparing to follow until Shane called out.

"Bri, hold on up."

She approached where he stood in front of the firepit, hands on his hips. Bri said, "I promise I'm not trying to be combative by saying it, I just think... if we were really thinkin' something could help Jim, we woulda left as soon as those bodies were buried."

"I have to agree with you there. I believe in Rick's instinct. But we ain't doin' this for Jim." Shane admitted.

"So long as we're bein' honest about why we're doin'... whatever we end up doin'." She shifted, hiding shaky fists into her jean pockets. "I don't like Rick actin' like heading to the CDC is in honor of Jim. Don't like him gettin' Cory's hopes up."

"Rick's trying to appeal in anyway he can. We all need to stick together now." Shane sighed. "You still got those supply notes?"

Bri barely remembered writing them, but the lists were in a notebook still on Dale's table. At Shane's reminder, the pair made a tally of what all was in the go-bags Cory stashed in the trunks. It wasn't more than a day or two's worth of food in each, with ratty blankets and half-spools of gauze and Neosporin. Pitiful, but could fend off death if necessary.

"We got enough in the RV to make it to the CDC, though, right?" Shane clarified.

"Yeah, and maybe a few days if needed. It's just that nothin's certain past that." Bri stretched, and brought the notebook above her eyes to block the setting sun. "Even if they're functioning, whose to say if they have food for another dozen people? We're gonna have to scavenge on the road either way."

"Daryl will hunt."

"We'll be lucky if Daryl feeds anyone besides the kids. Doubt he won't hold a grudge, at least for a little while."

"Rick said all was left of Merle was a hand." Bri blanched at the mental image. Shane defended, "That's not Rick's fault."

"You put him in a chokehold when he was freaking out and nobody would tell him what happened. I'm sure Daryl gets it now, but that don't mean he's gonna be jumpin' up and down to help out. There's nothin' keeping him here, and I don't think we should rely on squirrels to get us through."

Shane thought this over. "Makes me come back to Fort Benning, man-- whatever the CDC might have, Fort Benning will have maximum security on top of that."

Bri swallowed. "That's still an 'if'.... _If_ the CDC is up, _if_ Fort Benning is up. I do think they're worth looking at, but I don't think we should build up so much hope on them. I'd rather have a lot of maybes that I half-believe in, instead of putting everything into something with such slim chances of working out."

"Keeping options open is good." Shane said absently.

"What'd you tell me awhile back? Somethin' about figuring out what we gotta do and just doing it. That's what I'm doing."

Shane nodded. "Just don't be taking on more than you're ready for."

"You'll be the judge of what I'm ready for, huh." It came out more bitter than she meant it.

"Don't see anyone else trying to steer you straight."

Bri committed to helping the others pack their belongings. But she could only do it after allowing herself a swig to get through the day. If any day deserved to be forgotten, it was this one, but she restrained; Bri sobbed into the bottleneck, feeling extreme deja vu and discomfort, but a small breakdown was what she needed. Wiping her eyes, she joined Carol in collapsing her and Sophia's tent.

 _Amy_. It settled for her when Andrea passed them with two bags, remarking softly that Bri and Chrissy were free to have her sister's things, because Andrea didn't want them. _Amy_. Amy tried to steer her straight, in a sweeter, calmer way than Shane. If Amy painted Bri's nails another time or two, forced her out on the boat again, maybe it wouldn't feel like doing good was just a distraction to not drink. Maybe it would feel like Bri was doing good because she wanted to, and not because she needed to.

* * *

Chrissy took over when T finally crashed in the RV's driver seat. Jacqui was adamant Chrissy not be alone with Jim, so close to death, and sat beside her on the bed across from his.

"I'm not really here for Jim, I'm here 'cause Cory asked." Chrissy explained, while Jacqui swept a wet rag over Jim's sleeping body.

The older woman sat back, legs curled beneath herself. "I know, sweetie. Better you stickin' around than him. Cory looks up to him so much... he doesn't need to see him go."

Unlike Andrea, Chrissy didn't plan on waiting for Jim to reanimate. Jim needed peace when the time came.

The pair sat vigil at Jim's deathbed. Every time they thought he might be gone, Jacqui held a compact mirror beneath his nose. When Jim hit the twenty-four hour mark, he was still alive. His skin was sallow and jaundiced, and when Chrissy dared to grab his wrist to check his pulse, he was ice cold. The motion stirred him awake.

"I'm sorry--"

Frantic, Jim gripped her hand. "The boat, is he watching the boat?"

Jacqui ducked into the room, nudging Chrissy out of the way. "Yes, Jim, he's watching the boat."

Smoothing his hair, Jacqui sat on the edge of the bed, calming him until he began to laugh. "They didn't let Ed on the boat." A garbled chuckle. "It's gonna leave without him."

"That's probably a good thing." Jacqui said carefully.

Jim coughed, and kept coughing. After lifting the bucket to his chest, Chrissy turned her head to avoid errant blood spatter. It went on for a minute: he hawked up dark red, bordering on black, globs of blood and bile. Barely breathing, Jim winced as his back hit the headboard, and cried when Jacqui touched his shoulder to adjust the pillow.

"Don't, don't... don't."

He stared at the popcorn ceiling until his eyes rolled back. Jacqui confirmed he was only passed out again. Holding the ceramic pot a foot away from herself, Chrissy left the RV to dump it on the embers of the pile of burnt walkers. Cory was sitting on the RV steps when she returned.

"You been here the whole time?"

Cory shrugged.

"He's not dead, if you wanna see him."

"Said goodbye when he knew who I was. Carol said he started askin' for his sons after I left." He shrugged again. "Sides, I don't wanna see him like that again."

Chrissy looked into the blood-stained pot, which would surely be left behind the next morning. "Well, I'm making sure he's comfortable. S'all we can do. Will you pack up for me?"

"Already did. Bri, too, 'cause she's sleepin'."

"That's nice."

"We gotta leave early, and I don't wanna wake her, so..." Cory stood up. "Don't know what to do with her drinks, though."

"Best idea is probably to dump 'em in the quarry. But like I was telling her, we can use alcohol for other things and we shouldn't be wasting it."

"Use it for what?"

"Disinfecting, cleaning wounds. Some other things better than drinking herself to death."

Her wording made him wince. "I'm gonna see if Sophia needs any help packing."

His gait could only be described as mopey, but the word didn't encapsulate the sorrow of it. He said they already said goodbye, but Cory paused to look back once, not at her but at the back window covered by blinds, making his walk away from the RV feel like an official departure.

Lori said they needed a time to mourn; was she the person Chrissy should ask for help? Carl was well adjusted after his father's supposed death, and maybe it was due to good mothering. Cory could use that right about now. God, she didn't know the extent Cory had mourned their parents. She hadn't.

Inside, T drank from a bottled water. "Feels like the home stretch." T said, offering Chrissy the rest. The digital clock read 10:05 P.M. "I saw people change in minutes out there."

"He didn't lose a lot of blood." Chrissy figured, sitting across from him. Her eyeline saw Jacqui cleaning Jim again. "He's hanging on by a thread now."

Silence hung on their shoulders until T looked up with a small smile. "My Mama, wherever she ended up, she would say that for every good, there's a bad. I think that was supposed to keep us humble, but I've started thinkin' 'bout it like: for every bad thing, something good's gotta happen. God's gotta keep things even."

Were things too good before the world ended? And was this in God's hands or their hands? "My Mama said we gotta make our own luck, and make our own good things happen, 'cause no one's gonna do it for us."

"Explain's a fair amount." T gave an empty chuckle. "I think crossing those might work; work our tails off to make good, and be grateful when something good happens."

"Gotta keep things even." Chrissy repeated his words. "We're due for some good."

Chrissy dozed upright in the booth with an empty duffle folded under her head. When she woke to heavy footsteps, the clock read just after midnight. T pushed Jacqui into the booth, and Chrissy leapt to help him. Jacqui grabbed her arm, shaking her head.

Their breathing rang ragged through the RV. T-Dog slid the door half-closed behind him. He was only there for a minute before coming out to clean the blade of his knife in the bathroom sink. His face was severe. "I'm gonna get Shane. I don't think we made an extra grave."

"It's late." Jacqui took ahold on his shoulder.

Shrugging her hand away, he headed out, saying only, "Not gonna let that man rot."

Chrissy's chest hammered. Jacqui told her to get some rest. Chrissy wouldn't be sleeping soon, but she said goodnight anyway. Outside, she caught Bri and Glenn's hushed voices from atop the RV. She announced herself and climbed halfway up; they played Uno by lamplight.

Chrissy's face said it all. The older pair shared a look of sorrow; Glenn was friendlier with Jim, and would no doubt mourn, but both were thinking about Cory.

"Cory's sleeping in Carl's tent. D'you want me to come lie down, or...?" Bri offered.

Chrissy shrugged. "I don't need you with me to go to sleep." Embarrassed at her own caustic tone, she bit her lip. "I- you probably need sleep anyway, though."

Glenn nudged Bri. "Go on, I'm still wired up."

With a sigh, Bri followed Chrissy back to their tent. She asked, "Did you have to do it?"

"No. T did it. We were all just waiting. Then.. yeah. Should I go tell Cory?"

"You should probably get him, bring him back."

They split in their separate directions. To Chrissy's right, T and Shane collected bandannas and gloves, and put a tarp and shovels in the back of Daryl's truck. Leaning over, Chrissy rustled the Grimes' tent, whispering, "Hey, I need to talk to Cory."

She right in assuming someone would still be up. Rick unzipped the tent, and confusion was quickly replaced with solemn understanding. He gave her room to step in. Past the couple's cot, where Lori snored lightly, both boys were sound asleep, and Chrissy should've changed her mind and let him rest.

"Does it change anything? That Jim's dead?" Chrissy asked.

Rick's head tipped to the side, glancing at the boys, before looking back at her. "No, it doesn't."

"God, he was close with him." Chrissy stood awkwardly, watching the boys, too, dreading to break the news. "I wish he was small enough I could just carry him back."

"I got him."

"Yeah?"

Rick knelt beside Cory, whose body was half off the cot, and scooped him to his chest, careful not to wake him. He carried her brother out of his tent in a hundred feet away, to their tent where Bri was setting out a toolbox and a folding chair to load in the morning. Bri pushed the flap open so Rick could duck in, still so careful of Cory. Even after Rick set him down and bade the girls a solemn goodnight, Cory didn't stir.

Sometime later, though, in the small hours before dawn, he woke Chrissy with wracking sobs, his arms pinching around her center. She cried, too, into his floppy, unwashed hair which smelled like sweat and a simmering firepit.

 _We're due for some good_.

* * *

Shane and T-Dog buried Jim in the night, and the rest of the camp paid their respects in the morning. Lori was right, it was important to give themselves time to mourn; but mourning ate into time they didn't have, and it was noon before they broke down the last of the tents.

"I don't think it needs to be rediscussed, but I'm willing to open the floor for any objections to continuing on to the CDC."

Heads hung, and despite Shane's apparent belief in his friend, the man's expression didn't nurture much hope. A diligent gesture on Rick's part, but they were pigeon-holed.

Bri offered, "We don't know what we'll find. Worst case scenario, there's nothin'. Best case... there's somethin'. Sooner we head out, quicker we get info. Quicker we can move forward, whether there's somethin' or not."

"That's true regardless of where we go." Glenn agreed. "CDC is closest."

"Alright, then." Shane drew them in. "Those of you with C.B.s, we're gonna be on channel 40, but let's keep the chatter down, okay? Now, you got a problem, don't have a C.B., can't get a signal, anything at all, you're gonna hit your horn one time. That'll stop the caravan. Any questions?"

Morales stepped up, confirming Glenn's words. "We're, uh, we're not going."

"You go on your own, you won't have anyone to watch your back."

"We'll take the chance. I gotta do what's best for my family." Morales leaned to Rick.

"You sure?"

"We talked about it. We're sure."

Rick's bag of guns was already tucked the trunk of Carol's little yellow car. From within, he pulled a small pistol and a box of ammo. The men said their goodbyes, while Miranda hugged each of the women. Eliza squeezed Chrissy and Sophia tight, giving the latter her rag doll in parting. To Bri's surprise, the girl came to her next, wrapping her thin arms around Bri's waist.

"I'll miss you also." Eliza said, muffled.

The hug was in lieu of being able to hug Amy, so Bri bent and kissed the crown of her head, because that's what she figured Amy would do. "I'll miss you, too."

Louis said goodbye to Carl and Cory with hugs of their own, and told Cory, whose tears hadn't dried from the morning, "You can keep my cap."

Morales spoke to Chrissy. "You mind Shane, alright? And watch out for your brother." After a pause, he said, "Better watch out for yourself, too. No more jumping down sewers." He added with a clap on her shoulder. He nodded to Bri in goodbye, and moved to shake T-Dog's hand beside them.

"Channel 40, if you change your minds." Rick said.

The Morales family pealed off the dirt road, heading on a journey which took three hours on a good, clean highway. Now they were looking at days, with one gun and only one fighter. The go-bag, and the boxes of rice which Dale gave them in parting, might last them the trip if they were mindful.

Shane spoke low to Rick, just as Bri's hands began to itch. "What makes you think our odds are any better?"

The caravan moved out, each car packed with worried faces. Bri, Chrissy, and Cory sat across from Andrea in the church van while T-Dog drove. Through the back windows, the blood trails and simmering walker pile left the most obvious markers of their presence. The graveyard on the hill sat just out of view, and the main camp grew smaller until T-Dog turned left behind Shane's Jeep, cutting their sightline for good.

They were on the road again, and though hopeful it wouldn't be for long, Bri wrung out her wrists in anxiety. She knew what would help, but lacked the resolve to ask Chrissy where she hid her bottles while packing. 

Instead, Bri recollected Morales' parting words, and nudged Chrissy with a laugh. "So you were jumping down sewers? That what you weren't gonna tell me?"

A brief look of guilt crossed the younger girl's face, but Bri humor about it calmed her. "Uh, yeah. Me and Glenn, we were trying to cover all our bases, so..." Chrissy sped past the more dangerous moments of the run, Bri could tell from her halting and rewording and from Andrea's occasional eye-rolling correction or T-Dog's addendums to Chrissy's tale. It was a welcome distraction for all, to find what humor they could in what was reported to be an awful day.

After an hour, the RV's horn beeped once, signaling to pull over.

"Bet it's the hose again." A soft sadness crossed Chrissy's face as Cory jumped up, stumbling as the van lurched to a stop, and hopped out onto the street.

Both the RV and Dale were steaming. The hose was past needing a replacement; Cory pointed to the duct taped clump, and Bri couldn't see any of the original part. The van they took into the city was to be stripped for the part, but according to Glenn, in a story she still only half-understood, Merle stole it.

"I see something up ahead. A gas station if we're lucky. Hey, Rick, you wanna hold down the fort? I'll drive ahead, see what I can bring back."

T-Dog accepted the binoculars from Shane, eyeing the location. "Yeah, I'll come along too and I'll back you up."

Chrissy's hand hovered over her knife as she sat on the side of the road, keeping an eye on Cory. They cried all night, while Bri tried not to, tried her best to sleep, no better than the rest of the camp, she was sure. She zoned out, leaning on the side of the church van.

"Bri!" Shane called, startling her. "Could use an extra set of eyes. Wanna come on?"

"Uhh, yeah, one sec." Being offered a job made her feel useful, but only for a moment, and she was soon hesitant to leave the kids behind, even with the crowd around to watch over them. Bri checked her pocket, finding the combat knife resting where she left it. Behind the RV was Daryl's truck, and the man himself paced beside it like a dog in a cage. "Heard you nabbed my hatchet."

Daryl stopped still, biting the skin around his thumbnail. "Borrowed your _axe_ , yeah."

"Is there a difference? Do you have it?"

"Yeah." He didn't move.

"Yes, there's a difference, or yes, you have it?" Bri paused as Daryl wouldn't answer or meet her eyes, and she snapped, incredulous, "Do you need to sniff my breath or somethin'? Give it."

Huffing, Daryl reached an arm into the passenger's seat, and pulled out the hatchet-- axe?-- which was stained with blood he hadn't bothered to clean. He extended the handle, not without saying something behind his teeth.

"Thank you." Bri deadpanned. 

Daryl grunted. "Have fun."

Bri wasn't sure if the misplaced anger was for something she'd done, or if it was simply the loss of his brother. If she found a better weapon, Bri would pass the axe back over. Wasn't worth Daryl being a little bitch about it.

As Bri approached, Shane hollered out. "Y'all keep your eyes open now. We'll be right back."

The gas station was a mile ahead. Spray painted red on the ground between the two pumps were the words _NO GAS_. Their low whistles and clanging weapons against the Jeep's metal frame revealed no threats, and the trio hopped out. Two cars parked in designated spaces, rather than abandoned like most cars along the road, looked untouched. Shane pulled an empty gas canister the back of the Jeep. They went for the vehicles; T-Dog took out a multi-tool and headed for the hood, where he would pull the parts for Dale, and Shane popped open the gas cap.

Bri circled the car, trying the driver's seat. The keys to the compact silver Nissan were tucked in the visor; the window was cracked for the high summer heat, and Bri could barely slide her arm in. The challenge past that was pushing down the visor and catching the keys before they dropped to the ground. In one swoop, she pressed the tips of her fingers to the edge of the visor, and the fuzzy, smooshed key fog fell into her palm. Grasping it quickly, she maneuvered her hand out of the window.

Unlocking the door and sliding into the driver's seat, she threw a thumbs up to T and dug under and around the seats. In the back seat was a drawstring bag of swimming gear; keeping the trunks and the sunscreen, Bri dumped the snorkel and goggles and replaced them with a box of band aids and a half-packet of cigarettes, a bribe for Daryl. Beneath the backseat were a pair of sneakers which might fit Glenn, and a light blue windbreaker was draped over the driver's seat. For lack of storage, she pulled it on as she hopped out.

"Any luck?" Shane called, twisting the cap to the gas can. "Nice jacket."

"I think I like it; not much but better than nothin'." Fiddling with the key fob, Bri tried a key or two before the trunk door budged. The stench of the open gym bag was intolerable, but Shane dug through the trunk as Bri stepped away to dry heave. "Jesus, that's rank."

Shutting the trunk, Shane extended a full pack of wet wipes, and with a grunt carried the spare tire to the Jeep.

"You 'bout done, T?"

"Almost."

The second car was a minivan trashed with toys and picture books, and the side doors slid open with ease. Unable to tell if the car was ransacked or already a mess, Bri shifted through the seats, finding only shirts and shoes too small for their group's kids. The best she could find was a box of markers tucked in the net behind the passenger seat. The front console yielded gum and pistachios.

"You think we should take this?" Shane called from the trunk.

Bummed at her shitty findings, Bri peeked over the back seat, where Shane stood over a cardboard box lined with towels to protect a hefty boom box and a sleeve of cassettes.

"Might be worth somethin', sure." She tossed her items into the box as he folded the cardboard flaps.

With T-Dog finished and the cars swept through, the trio approached the gas station. Tapping on the door, blocked on the inside by an ATM, riled the single walker trapped behind the front counter. With the brunt of his weight, T-Dog shoved opened the door. Shane looked to Bri and nudged his head towards the corpse.

"Got it?"

The thing was sluggish from inactivity, to Bri's advantage. A hand on the neck and the base of the axe, Bri swung it over her shoulder, and brought it over the walker's head; the first blow didn't do it, and she wiggled the blade away before aiming once more for the same crack in its skull. It's dead weight sunk, gravity doing the work of removing the blade from the sinew. She slung off the excess.

"Nice one."

Bri didn't need Shane's approval to be satisfied with her own competence, but the acknowledgement didn't hurt.

The place was stocked well, due to its remote location and likely being blocked off so soon. They aimed for the canned goods, which were pretty intact. They each filled up baskets from the front door, making sure to pick the most palatable options, things the kids wouldn't whine about eating. Bri grabbed a sack of jelly beans, and a few boxes of sour candy, things which wouldn't melt too bad if left out. After clearing the refrigerators of waters and energy drinks, Shane met Bri by the household items.

"You take down the gun Mo took?"

"I haven't been near the guns, Rick's or mine." Grabbing the bulk of the travel sized items, Bri shrugged. "Don't know the difference between the different types."

"I'll show you, don't worry about that. Just gotta remember to do it now." Beneath a ' _Back-to-School_ ' banner were a rack of backpacks, and Shane passed one over. He added, "Especially now."

Leaving the cans in the basket, Bri loaded the rest of the items into the pack. "Did you ever track down mine? The one you couldn't find?"

Shane shook his head. "Not been the biggest worry. And I don't see any of our crew planning somethin' nefarious, do you?"

"No, I don't."

They met T-Dog by the entrance, and he opened a canvas bag, showing off a variety of batteries, duct tape, and spooled cables. "Gonna have to get rid of that RV one day, but 'til then..."

"Cory'll have it patched in no time." With the basket of cans in arm, she asked Shane, "We good here?"

"Got those parts?" Shane asked T-Dog.

"Already loaded in the back."

"Then let's head out."

Andrea met their return with a groan. "Finally."

At her remark, Dale was extra kind in accepting the car parts from T-Dog. With Cory's small hands fiddling around the front engine, Bri remembered why they used to have child labor laws; two fingers were briefly trapped in a mechanism. The boy shook his hand out, saying it only squeezed for a second, but Dale was awfully guilty and had Chrissy take him inside the RV for Jacqui to look him over.

Shane topped off each car, and though the recovered canister was quickly empty, he promised it would get the group the rest of the way. The backroads, even those with minor pileups, were easier to travail than the highways, and it was safer than the direct route through Atlanta-- though they would have to drive through the outskirts of Decatur briefly to reach the CDC.

The rest of the drive saw Bri and Glenn counting out cans and marking what supplies they'd picked up; Bri didn't care about keeping a steadfast log of every single thing, but noting which batteries they had was important, and knowing which spare soaps they had was good, too. She tucked away the candy for the kids, and Glenn tried on the sneakers, which would fit well once he found some thicker socks.

Tentatively, Glenn asked, "Were you okay out there?"

"Yeah," Bri smiled. "Shane let me kill the cashier."

"That's... an accomplishment, then?"

"Yeah, I'd say so." She kicked his shin under the table, and she joked, "I'm really comin' up in the world. Soon, I'll be walker-killin' with the best of 'em."

From the moment they rounded the underpass and the large glass structure came into view, the CDC didn't look hopeful. Bodies hung over sandbag barriers. They left their vehicles parked a short distance from the entrance, and the children stepped to the center of their huddle as they followed the main road past the guard's station and into the abandoned parking lot. Weapons lingered behind the sandbags, propped alone or in the hands of the few corpses which wouldn't be coming back. A handful of the bodies, at closer inspection, didn't have wounds to the heads. The highlight of it all was the setting sun, bright orange and disappearing behind the tree line.

The smell was back, too. It hadn't hit Bri at camp, because she only loaded the recently deceased, and she'd had one of Jacqui's scarves to block the scent. Now the smell was worse than it was when she was on the road before. An extra month of baking in the sun brought flies, and no doubt a slew of disease was leaking onto the pavement.

If Bri had any hope, the tanks lining the front doors eviscerated it. And past the army vehicles were the gated entrances, which Rick and Shane kicked and pounded to no avail.

"There's nobody here." T-Dog said, and from beside the man, Chrissy held her knife in one hand and Cory's wrist in the other.

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick tried one door and another.

"Walkers!"

Daryl got the nearest one with a bolt as the rest readied guns. Being unarmed, Lori and Carol held onto their kids, and Chrissy took a defensive stance near them.

"Don't use the guns." Bri cautioned, while rotting heads rose from behind sandbags and trucks.

Daryl stomped towards Ricks with fire in his heels. "You led us into a graveyard!"

"He made it a call--" Dale tried.

"It was the wrong damn call!"

Shane pushed Daryl back, voice hushed in panic. "Just shut up, you hear me? Shut up." Approaching Rick, speaking even lower, Shane pled his case.

"Pickin' all these off ain't an option." Standing guard by Glenn, Bri's hand tightened around her axe, willing them not to shake. "We gotta go."

"Where are gonna go?" Carol clutched her daughter to her chest.

"We'll have to sleep on the road tonight. Shane--" Bri turned to find the man still focused on his friend.

Lori pleaded, "We can't be here, this close to the city after dark."

Shane took hold on Rick's shoulder, trying to draw him from his one track mind. "Fort Benning, Rick-- still an option."

Andrea balked, "On what gas? That's 100 miles."

"125, I checked the map." Glenn muttered, easing himself closer to Bri as they gauged the mounting threats.

"That trip'll be days."

Over Dale's shoulder T-Dog's shotgun took out a walker, too close for comfort.

"Forget Fort Benning, We need answers tonight, now." Lori pleaded to Rick.

Rick stood there with the cogs turning, far too reluctant for Bri's liking, trying to pacify them with, "We'll think of something"

Bri said, "That can't be done here."

Grabbing Lori and Carl, Shane called, "All right, everybody back to the cars. Let's go, move!"

Behind T-Dog, Chrissy yanked Cory beside her, as Bri and Glenn flanked either side, pushing forward into the oncoming crowd of the dead.

"The camera! It moved--" Walkers groaned as Rick slammed on the gate, wailing, "You're killing us! You're killing us!"

Shane's crew was stuck still, trying to maneuver Rick away from the doors. Rick's banging only riled the dead still on the ground. Glenn and Bri made no progress through the dozen or so walkers encroaching on their huddle, and fell back to not get separated. They would have to fight their way out of the lot if Rick didn't make a decision--

Finally convinced to turn back, Rick stumbled forward as the gate rose with a hiss, artificial light streaming around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not very happy w this one n will make minor grammar edits in the future
> 
> i just wanted jim to have a nice goodbye n that will become a common theme i think
> 
> also committing to giving t-dog a decent arc. allowing him to have opinions n stuff.


	9. Volition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: discussion of disordered eating, suicide

The shock of the light wore away as they spilled into the entrance hall of the CDC. Weapons raised, they shut the front doors and spanned out in a loose formation to scan each corner of the welcome center. Their boisterous footsteps revealed no threat, but Shane's rifle remained readied.

Rick called out, "Hello?"

From past the information desks, a gun cocked. The group's eyes fell on a pale, armed man on a broad stairway. Voice thick from underuse, he spoke. "Anybody infected?"

Shane said, "Not anymore."

The man gripped and loosened the rifle warily; the shiftiness and solitary greeting raised flags. His bounced around the hall. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

Rick pled, "A chance." 

"That's asking an awful lot these days."

"I know."

The man scanned their faces. His gun lowered, already hesitant to shoot, and nothing about him was particularly well-kempt. _Some type of welcome wagon they got here._ If this was the leader or, worst case, the CDC's most intimidating greeter... well, versus their well-armed group, Shane was certain they could talk themselves into this place.

It was easier than a confrontation: "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."

"We can do that."

"You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed."

Most, Shane included, had their necessities, but the capable among them split into groups. The mothers and the children, including a shockingly unfussy Chrissy, remained inside the entrance; T-Dog, Glenn, Daryl, and Rick ran back to the cars, with Shane, Bri, Dale, and Andrea keeping one entryway door open and clear of walkers. Two trips brought the bulk of the sleeping gear and clean clothes, and as Shane and Bri latched the doors, Rick saddled up with a relieved grin.

To his oldest friend, he said, "This... _this_ is good."

With Lori approaching the pair with downcast eyes and Carl shaking at her side, Shane figured, "Can't yet confirm or deny."

Bri took the children's backpacks from Glenn. Tugging his own duffle back over his shoulder, Shane joined her, walking across the large steps and through a clinically white hallway of conference rooms, their route directed by Dr. Jenner, as the man had introduced himself to Rick.

"Feels weird." Bri said, once they were a short distance between the Grimes family and the bulk of their group. "Feels like a mirage. Get-rich-quick sort of thing."

Figuring he wasn't crazy for thinking it, Shane admitted his fear, "Seems too good to be true."

Chrissy stopped walking, waiting for Bri to catch up. Reaching out, Bri took the younger girl's hand kept on with her. Since returning from the city, Bri was the world's most questionable security blanket, but the attachment kept them both in line. Enough so, Shane nearly trusted her.

Jenner swiped his card at the end of the hallway, and he opened the door to another dimly lit corridor. At the end of it, they packed like sardines into a cargo elevator heading down.

"Doctors always go around packin' heat like that?" Daryl couldn't say much, not with a shotgun in one hand and a crossbow in the other.

"There were plenty left lying around. I familiarized myself. But you look harmless enough." Jenner scanned their waiting faces, pausing on Carl and Cory under Lori's arms. "Except you two." He added with a sad grin. "I'll have to keep my eye on you."

Jenner confirmed they were underground, and led them into a large rotunda. At his command, someone called Vi turned on the lights, illuminating the configuration of computers on the center platform. All except one in the center were off. The one computer blinked green.

"Welcome to Zone 5."

Cory whispered, "Cool." Him and Carl caught wind down a ramp, forcing the adults to keep with their speed.

"Where is everybody? The other doctors, the staff?" Rick asked.

Stepping onto the dais, Jenner sighed. "I'm it. It's just me here."

Shane's grips tightened. He could drop his bag and ready his rifle in a snap. _Too good to be true_. Instead, air streamed from flared nostrils, and Shane bit his tongue on the matter. Prayed him and Bri, of all people, weren't the only two on alert.

Lori wondered, "What about the person you were speaking with? Vi?"

"VI. Say hello to our guests. Tell them... welcome."

Through surround speakers came the bodiless voice of VI. "Hello, guests. Welcome."

"Cool." Cory repeated, all shock and awe.

Chrissy corrected, "Not cool." Speaking softer, she leaned to Bri. "I don't like this."

"I'm all that's left." Jenner clarified. "I'm sorry."

Off the control room were a series of labs and more private meeting rooms. Jenner sat them down in one and returned momentarily with a box of vials and labels and needles. Exhausted silence seeped between the clinking of Jenner's prep; Rick remained relieved, but other shifting glances read as worried.

The children, at least, weren't concerned about their safety, instead, Chrissy winced from between Bri and Andrea, staring dead on at the capped needles lining the folding table. Unlike his sister, Cory calmed Carl, saying it didn't hurt, would be over soon, regurgitating adult-to-child comfort.

"You can go first, if you would like." Jenner set the table. "Show him it's not all bad."

Cory stilled, but put on a brave face and laid out his left arm. As the doctor strapped a tube to it, he pointed at Cory's right hand where it was babied in his lap. "You get in a fight?"

"With an RV engine."

"Ouch!" Jenner sympathized, exclaiming as the needle broke the skin. It was only another minute before Carl's turn, and the boy was more inclined after seeing Cory's successful turn.

Chrissy clamped Bri's hand until it was sheet-white, but didn't complain when it was her turn. With the smallest huff, Bri cringed at the needle, and Glenn made a point not to look at the needle, but no reactions were dramatic. They were too tired to fight.

Andrea felt faint after her bloodwork. Her's being the last, Jenner led the group to a breakroom, furnished with couches along the walls, and several large tables stacked with chairs in front of the well-stocked kitchen.

"There's plenty to go around."

Canned goods lined the pantry shelves, interspersed with dry mixes and preserves. Jacqui and Carol commandeered the space, firing up the stove and setting out ingredients they hadn't seen in months. The kids busied themselves setting the table nice and neat, as the rest of the group shrugged off their bags.

The doctor kept silent and wasn't the only one. It confirmed Shane's hope that he wasn't alone, minus Bri, in his concern. Smug, he had half a mind to go on and ask Jenner for an honest answer: what the hell happened? Even as the women plated pasta, spiced and seasoned as they lamented days prior, only half of their group gave into the rising clamor.

Until Jacqui opened a cabinet, and with a gleeful squeak, slid a bottle from the shelf. "Doc... got any reason we don't break into these?"

Jenner's go-ahead brought bodies from the sidelines. Daryl hopped on the countertop with his bowl, inebriation making him quick to crack jokes like he'd been friendly all along. Andrea took the open chair beside Dale, and accepted a glass of wine. Even Glenn, seeming content after the anxiety-inducing trip, pulled himself and the kids from Bri's side and joined T-Dog at the main table.

From the corner of his eye, Shane saw Bri still alone on the couch, balancing her uneaten meal on her lap, sipping water. Shane's own glass of wine sat drained, taken down in two swigs without a care. Readjusting her position for the third time in a matter of minutes, Bri finally set her plate down with a sigh.

"You know, in Italy, children a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France!" Dale passed Lori a glass, where she sat across the table. As far away as possible.

Lori gave a dry chuckle. "Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then."

"What's it gonna hurt? Come on." Rick nudged Carl's shoulder.

Behind Shane, near imperceptible, Bri gave a short, unamused laugh.

Carl's tongue hadn't tasted the drink before his face scrunched at the unpleasant taste; the adults' laughter swelled, then cut short as the breakroom door clicked shut.

Chrissy's chair squeaked on the tile, and towering over the lazy crowd, she said, "I'll get her."

"No." Shane waved her down. "You gotta eat, too."

"I'm done, she--"

"Sit on down, enjoy your meal." The dredges of a tipsy fog shook away, and a dozen pairs of eyes watched Shane take Bri's plate. The door hadn't clicked close before laughter roared once more. He'd have their asses if it was at either girl's expense.

Bri's axe remained beside her bag, so she hadn't gone exploring-- or at least Shane was sure she was smart enough not to. Sober as she'd been, or seemed, in the past few days, she was bound to crash. Free-flowing drinks and _what's it gonna hurt_ if the kids try some... Nothing was gonna harm them underground except themselves. There were plainly marked hallways to different labs, filled with any number of glass vials to make a mess of, and Shane's pace quickened. He tried one of the unopened doors and found it locked, while the few cracked doors showed no signs of life.

Backtracking the route to the control room, Shane sighed. Bri's miserable, pale face was lit with the dim green glow of the log-in screen on the one computer. Shane's boots clamored onto the dais, announcing his presence to the girl who was otherwise distracted by the cursor on-screen, leaning forward in the doctor's desk chair.

"Promise I didn't touch anything." Bri released the mouse and kicked back.

"Not much left to mess up." Setting her plate on the empty work station, Shane pulled over another wheeled chair. "Eat."

"Not hungry." She folded her hands, legs crossed atop the desk. "Would've eaten if I was."

"D'you remember the last time you did?"

With her eyes closed, Shane couldn't tell if Bri was thinking about the question or ignoring it.

Again, he asked, "When was the last time you ate?"

"Granola bar in the RV. Chris was watchin' so I ate it." Bri huffed. "'Cause I'm a good influence."

"Better eat while we got the food. Said it yourself, nothin' is certain. Last I'll say on it."

"You're not my--" Stopping herself, Bri stood, stretched, and slouched in the chair again. "Can't remember when I've gone longest, now. It fucking sucks."

"I'll bet."

"I'm drinking water. That's all I know how to do-- take aspirin when we can go without it, and chug water. Couldn't keep that bar down before anyway."

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but Shane offered, "Don't wanna be the bad influence, but we're safe for the night. If you want a glass to curb--"

"It won't just be a glass." She pointed at him. "No, if I get a little bit, I'll throw punches for more, and I have been--" Squeezing her eyes shut, she tilted her head to the ceiling until she could gather herself, swiping away at oncoming tears. "--I have been mostly good about not engaging 'cause we've been too busy. A night off is the fucking opposite of what I need."

"You'd rather those kids be suffering, scared of the dead, livin' on the roads, than have one tough night?" Shane heard it in his own voice before Bri's face twisted in disgust, like Carl with his wine. His own mind wasn't as clear as he'd thought.

Bri's hands teetered between pointing and fists.

Shane hung his head. "Ain't what I meant."

"I excused myself because I ain't trying to ruin anybody's party, mkay? Didn't ask you to come out and be fucking rude when I'm tryin' so fucking hard to be polite, and I wanted to come out here and cry for a second because I used to be soooo fun when I was drunk, but now I'm a mopey piece of shit when I'm drunk and end up with all the little destructive-type thoughts, so pardon me if I needed to step out."

 _Miss it when you didn't talk so much_.

"My distraction was the little CDC logo that was bouncin' around the screen until I hit the mouse, so I'm gonna sit, and I'm gonna wait for it to time-out again, and eventually I'll pass out, right here. I'm not gon' bug anybody, 'cause I'm gonna cry if I smell somebody's breath. 'Kay?" Sniffling, Bri pushed the keyboard out of the way, and pulling the plate to her. "Tomorrow when y'all are all hungover, you can come find me, and I'll be helpful. 'Til then I'd like to be left the hell alone."

The pasta kept her distracted for a good ten minutes. Picking and prodding, Bri kept looking and sighing to find Shane still beside her. Staring at her eating would be a creep move, but her progress was as much a distraction to him as eating was to her. Without that self-control, they would both be in the kitchen, chugging, wrapped in their separate torments.

When she was nearly done with the plate, Shane asked, "You think Rick was right to come here?"

"Worth a shot. Like I said, we wouldn't know if we didn't roll up. Now we know... I don't know what we know."

"One man... it's a bunch of food and supplies and one man. Might not even be a doctor, now that I'm considering it."

Bri rolled her eyes, taking a final bite and pushing the remnants towards him. She jabbed her thumb at the screen, where the logo floated. "Maybe dude's talkin' to other scientists. And," Bri wiped her mouth with her sleeve, "I don't think Fort Benning's lookin' too hot, 'cause it looks like they're all dead, up there."

"But it's worth a shot." Shane appealed, and Bri nodded.

"Cory and Chrissy can use weapons, better get Carl and Sophia on that. Not like I taught them, but... Soph and Carl were babied. If we're gonna do that--live on the road-- everybody's gotta be equipped." Bri threw out her hands. "Hey, though, maybe the doctor will let us stick around. We can... kill walkers and bring them back to experiment on or some shit."

"You don't seem hopeful on that, though."

"Jus' don't like relying on people I don't know."

Piecing together the loose ramblings of their hypothetical plans sobered Shane. Bri had conviction, but wasn't unwilling to change her mind, or agree to an alternative plan. Mentioning municipalities around Fort Benning familiarized her with the route he proposed they take to get there, whenever they would leave the CDC. She agreed the doctor was sketchy, and on their way out, they could pick apart the military vehicles for parts and weapons, because the doctor wasn't getting any use from them.

"Gonna end up replacin' Rick as my right hand man."

Standing, Bri snorted. "That would require tellin' him he's the right hand man in the first place."

This gave him pause. "Would you not say that I'm the leader of this group?"

"I think you're sober and makin' plans, and he's somewhere gettin' hammered and celebrating somethin' we don't know shit about. Might need to let him down gently."

Shane repeated, "I'm the leader of this group."

"Yeah, man, I'd say so." Taking her dirty dish, Bri bumped Shane's side and they fell in step down the hallway.

* * *

To Bri's honest shock, the pasta stayed down, even after her conversation with Shane made her stomach church. If she could just shower and pass out... maybe a fresh morning would bring her some hope.

They found Jenner still in the breakroom, half-drunk surrounded by dishes, staring off. Not a spacey stare, but a resolute calm. Like it was all okay. Shane caught it too, because he huffed at Jenner's absent acknowledgment of the pair, when the man said the group split to shower and find beds for the night. Shane nudged his head towards the quiet commotion of a side hallway, indicating for Bri to go on. She took her axe and cup of water, and caught the first of his words to Jenner;

"I'm gonna ask, 'cause I know they didn't. What the hell happened here?"

Bri turned a corner, and Chrissy's laugh broke through Bri's shroud of anxiety. A genuine cackle Bri might have heard only once or twice. Past an open door revealing Glenn face-down on a couch, and past the too-loud rumble of AC/DC from another, Chrissy's door was wide open. Inside was a party separate of dinner's ill-founded celebration. Chrissy sat in front of the sink, grinning in the mirror, with her hair brushed and parted, and Jacqui hovering over her with a thin comb. The older woman was half-way through telling a story which made them both crack up. A third giggle joined, and stepping closer revealed Sophia sitting on a stool with Amy's nail kit in hand.

Sophia noticed Bri first. "Hey, are you feeling better?"

"Me? I'm fine, but y'all seem to be doing well." Bri leaned on the doorframe.

A short laugh from Chrissy turned into a wince.

Jacqui sprayed Chrissy's roots and held her head steady. "Gotta stay still, honey."

"I know, I know, just tender-headed." With a light-hearted whine, Chrissy met Bri with a smile through the mirror.

Bri joined the crowded bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, and allowed Sophia to fix her chipped nails. When Bri leaned over to fix Sophia's, her grip on the polish cap was tight enough to still the tremor in her wrist.

"Just so you know," Sophia said, covertly. "you stink."

"Really? Does this stink?" Bri lifted an arm over Sophia's head.

Slipping away, Sophia screeched, "Yeah, it does!"

"Not gonna be any hot water left when you get down there." Chrissy turned to Bri before Jacqui turned her head straight.

"Wait, there's hot water?" Bri balked.

Sophia giggled. "There _was_ hot water."

"Y'all are rude as hell. Should've come and got me!" Bri's hiking pack hadn't been brought into the building. Shuffling through a small dresser yielded an oversized sweater, and she called out, "Chrissy, you got some shorts?"

"Some of Amy's, in my bag."

Chrissy's backpack spilled across the coffee table next to her and Sophia's crumpled dirty clothes. Bri picked a pair of khaki shorts that were loose on Amy and snug on Bri. The sweater was big enough to cover them, should Bri run into Andrea. It was nice of her, selfless even, to offer them Amy's belongings; Bri would've taken Andrea for the hoarding type over not wanting to be reminded of her sister. Not like Bri wanted to be reminded either, but better that than roaming half-naked.

Sophia offered to show Bri to the showers, and held her drying nails primly in front of her. "There was cake at dinner, we saved you some."

"Might have to grab a midnight snack."

Shane curved the corner, nearly running into them. Shirt open and hair slick, he looked haggard. A shower hadn't washed the clinical stink of whiskey.

"You good?" Brows high, Bri left the real questions to silent communication, as Sophia was standing by.

"Doc gave me somethin' to think about. You did, too." He passed Bri a bottle of 2-in-1 and slunk off to one of the nearest doors, clicking the lock shut.

Sophia looked at her expectantly.

"Does he think I'm gonna use this?" Bri deflected, and nudged Sophia ahead.

"Y'all are friends, right?"

"Sure."

"Like... close friends?"

"We're friends."

Shrugging, Sophia said, "Mama just said y'all were close friends, so I was wonderin'."

Bri said with a sigh, "Whatever your Mama said, she was jokin'. It's like an inside joke."

Sophia kept walking til the women's showers came into view. "Mr. Walsh reminds me of my Daddy sometimes. That's all."

Bri nodded. Mentioning Ed didn't produce any strong emotions in Sophia. He died in the attack, Carol made sure he didn't come back, and both Carol and Sophia spoke more freely to the group with him gone. Shane versus Ed was a negative comparison, but Bri didn't want to test Sophia's emotions by confirming or denying her opinion. Bri still wasn't sure where she compared either.

There was a minute or two left of hot water, but even cold, the water pressure was worth it. Weeks of dirt she didn't know was hiding flowed in the tan water. Running clear, she overstayed her time just a moment. It was a simple comfort she could get used to having again.

In the rec room, the young trio surrounded a coffee table covered with Candy Land pieces. Carol and Lori lounged with books.

"You bolted earlier." Carol closed her novel. "You're alright?"

"Didn't wanna ruin the party." Bri slumped into a beanbag. With wide-eyed realization, Lori set her wine glass on the lamp table. "Case in point. All good though. Shane talked me through it."

At the unintentional mention of the man, Lori took the glass again, but between thin conversation with Carol and Cory's grinning victory, Bri noticed Lori's discreet movement. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bri heard Chrissy's voice saying something about not policing other's drinking, and of course Chrissy was right. But despite Carol's best effort to engage, even as Lori sipped away the last of it, Bri was distracted. Chrissy never made an appearance, and Candy Land wrapped up. Passing out would be better than dwelling on it. The evening came to its natural, sleepy end, and Bri gathered the several glasses and dessert plates the children left on the table.

"Rude of me not to even think of those, here--" Lori extended her arms.

Bri shook her head and lied, "Not really tired. I'll put these up, y'all go on."

"Sure?"

Bri's bleary eyes mirrored Lori's own, for their entirely different reasons. Bri told Shane as a sober person it was her duty to help the uncapable, so without a goodnight, Bri trailed the hallway, taking note of the signs.

Jenner was gone, but the mess remained. Stacking plates and bowls, Bri sighed at the hour-or-so old, caked tomato sauce; the varying degrees of drink in each wine glass were more annoying, but she sloshed out their dredges before she could consider diving in. There were several dishes in the sink, from Jenner's meals earlier in the day, and Bri tackled those first, her fingers pruning quickly beneath the cold water.

" _Satellite's gone up to the skies, things like that drive me out of my mind_..."

"Jenner said we didn't have to clean up, he'll take care of it." Came Rick's drawl from the doorframe.

"Bet he's got better things to do." Halfway through with the pile, Bri figured she would finish here, stack the chairs, and maybe sweep a bit, too. "Wasn't expectin' visitors."

She'd meant Jenner wasn't expecting the company, but Rick said, "Wasn't expectin' anyone to be up after the day... God, the week we've had."

"Not sure it's even been a week."

Rick swayed, but caught himself on the fridge handle, and pulled himself a bottled water from the drawer. Bri continued to wash, even more focused, considering the wine bottle lazing under his arm. It sloshed, indicating its quarter-filled contents. _God, the week I've had_.

"But we're safe, now, that's all that matters." His tone might have sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but when Bri turned, he was speaking to her. "This place is just what we need."

Arguing at all, with her mental fragility, would do no more than reduce her to tears, and arguing with a drunk man, even an exhausted one who seemed far from volatile, would be fruitless.

"Jenner say much to you?" Bri tried, with Shane's words in the back of her mind.

"Assured me that we're safe."

"I mean about what happened here."

"Said it was the same as happened everywhere. But... we're safe. Now, we're safe from everythin' up there."

Bri murmured, "That quick, huh..."

Rick must've not heard, because Bri felt a tap on her arm, and found Rick extending his wine bottle. "You weren't drinkin' earlier. If you want it..."

Bri placed the bottle on the countertop. She prayed Rick with a sober brain could perhaps decipher that the not-drinking meant she didn't want to drink, but drunk Rick remained content even with the lack of thanks. Five days into the end of the world, and Rick Grimes thought he'd found the answer they couldn't find in weeks. Of course, she wanted him to be right. She just couldn't shake the feeling he wasn't.

Rick stuck around, clearing himself up enough to walk an almost-straight line. Completing the dishes in silence, Bri toweled off the last water droplets and stocked the plates away. Sobered, Rick said good night, and left her staring at the bottle.

She bit her thumb and thought about it. Sophia promised they left dessert for Bri. A plate wrapped in foil sat on the bottom row of the half-full fridge, and lifting the corner revealed a quarter of a chocolate cake. If anything, it confirmed the doctor had some time on his hands. Fetching a fork, Bri picked at the cake. Something or someone was staring at her, but every time she turned to the doorway it was empty. She would rather admit to half-believing in ghosts than to just pick up the bottle.

The digital clock informed her she'd eaten the remnants in fifteen minutes. Not without tears, she convinced herself to leave. Ten steps down the hallway. Nobody else coming or going, all long since passed out.

_What's it gonna hurt? Come on._

Rick said those words about his own twelve year old son.

Knowing exactly what it would hurt, Bri doubled back. She took the neck of the bottle and nestled herself into the couch cushions.

If they were so safe, it wouldn't matter.

After fitful sleep, Bri woke to a shove. Opening her eyes, Daryl's back retreated to the stovetop, where a skillet let off tiny plumes of smoke. The digital clock read 6:32 A.M.

"No sleepin' in, huh?" Bri brushed stray hairs from her hammering forehead, looking for a mysteriously disappeared bottle.

Daryl grunted in lackluster response.

Willing her bones to rise, an ache drifted along her back from her strange position on the couch. She pulled a water from the drawer. Even in her exhaustion, Bri could feel Daryl's strange energy, like Merle being gone shifted how he viewed her. They weren't friends, but they were friendly, right? He stitched up her hands, held her hair back, and hadn't been too rude to her until the day prior.

When her standing around seemed to grate on a nerve, Daryl muttered, "Clean up." Pointing at the stain trailing across her sweatshirt, he huffed back to his pieces of simmering bacon. "Kids don't needta see this again."

There it was, a more simple answer than she could construct in the mess of her head. When passing the trash can, she saw green glass shards and purpled paper towels.

Rummaging through the dresser drawers didn't wake the logs snoring on the couch and the cot. In the shower, the hot water calmed the headache behind her eyes. It was enough for her to drag herself to the rec room and pass out.

* * *

Sleeping huddled with blankets under the heavy-blowing air conditioner made Chrissy a touch less grouchy the next morning. She tucked a plait behind her shoulder and dug into eggs and bacon, graciously provided by T-Dog, who didn't seem as hungover as the rest. Faces popped in and out of the breakroom, none being the one she needed to see. 

"Has anybody seen Bri?" Carl asked what Chrissy wondered since waking up. "Cory found a book for her."

Cory nodded, " _Hatchet_. 'Cause... you know."

"That's thoughtful." Sophia said, in a sisterly way Chrissy should have learned to mimic.

Instead, Chrissy said, "I've never seen Bri read." And scolded herself as Cory's face dropped.

"Well. I like reading, so I'll read it to her."

"I'll read it with you if she doesn't want to." offered Sophia, earning big grins from both Cory and her own mother.

Huffing, Chrissy stood. "I think I need coffee."

"Pots already on, I've got it." T tossed a towel over his shoulder.

"Umm, thanks. I'll find Bri, then--"

"No need." Bri entered the break room with Shane not far behind. She was fresh, still pale and dragging from the past few days, but better than she'd been. "Mornin'. Your hair looks cute." Bri tugged on a braid, pulling a chair between Chrissy and Glenn.

Jacqui had been on her plenty in camp about taking care of her hair, but in her defense, there was always something else to be done. Running her fingers along the plait, Chrissy thanked her.

T-Dog poured coffee around the table, shooting grins to every sour face that entered the breakroom.

"Feel as bad as I do?" Rick called to Shane, who prepped his eggs.

"Bad." Shane grimaced. "Maybe worse." Sliding between Chrissy and Andrea, Shane motioned to Bri. "How's it feel to be the odd one out?"

Bri smiled like a grimace. It had to be awful around everyone the night before. "Feels good."

Nudging Bri's elbow, Chrissy gave her a small smile. "Good for you."

Bri didn't respond, but did take the bottle of aspirin as it was passed around, and explained to Chrissy's stare, "Been getting aches and pains from that axe."

It would have been plausible, but Shane huffed and ducked his head, making noise under his breath, leaving Chrissy two options: those rumors about Bri and Shane messing around at camp weren't jokes anymore, substantiated by their leaving and arriving together, or worse, Bri was drinking again and Shane was realizing it, too. And was 'again' even the right word? Still. Still drinking.

The moment dampened Chrissy's appetite, but as the remaining seats filled with murmuring, hungover adults, Chrissy could appreciate Bri's attempts at small talk. The lights remained low, saving power for refrigeration and Jenner's equipment, but better to eat under the hum of electricity than surrounded by the buzz of cicadas. The group's proximity around the single dining table, and her brother a few seats away, provided a sense of security, something unfamiliar enough for its presence to be palpable. But it was wavering, flickering like the lights.

The question of the CDC's viability as a permanent safe-zone was approached by Dale at the first sight of Dr. Jenner. Their breakfasts abandoned in search of answers, the group filtered into the control room, where Jenner brought scans onto the high-tech screens.

Jenner said, "Few people ever got a chance to see this. Very few." His statement exemplified Cory's awe, shared by Carl and Sophia.

"Is that a brain?" asked Carl.

"An extraordinary one." Jenner's head hung. "Not that it matters in the end. Take us in for E.I.V."

They took their seats, coffees in hands, and the camera zoomed from an external view to the finest, blue, blinking lights of synapses inside the brain of TS-19.

"It's a person's life-- experiences, memories. It's everything. Somewhere in all that organic wiring, all those ripples of light, is you. The thing that makes you unique and human." Test subject 19 volunteered to be monitored by an MRI machine after being bitten, so Jenner could track the progress of the disease. Scanning ahead, Jenner showed the brain after hours of being host to the walker virus. The little lights were blinking out one-by-one, consumed by black branches until the body shut down. The screen read the time of death. "Everything you ever were or ever will be... gone."

"Is that what happened to Jim?" Sophia asked Carol.

"Yes." Carol reached for her daughter's hand, but Sophia moved to Cory, whose eyes were glued on the dim screen. Sophia scooched him over on the rolling chair and hugged him. Chrissy felt sick, and felt stuck her spot, and not just for not being able to comfort her own brother.

This didn't just happen to Jim and Amy and their parents. Wiping her nose, Chrissy knew this was every walker she ever killed, ever would. They were a person. Should still be a person.

"The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was eight hours. In the case of this patient, it was two hours, one minute, seven seconds." On Jenner's cue, the base of the brain reignited in a flurry of red. A gun entered the perimeter of the scan, and a bullet sliced through the brain. All dark again.

Andrea balked as Jenner powered off the screens. "You have no idea what it is, do you?"

Jenner listed off all the things the sickness could be, confirming there was no concrete knowledge on the disease.

"There are others, right? Other facilities?" Carol grasped at straws.

"There may be some. People like me."

"But you don't know? How can you not know?" Rick demanded.

"Everything went down. Communications, directives, all of it. I've been in the dark for almost a month."

There was nothing left, nothing official. Chrissy hadn't thought there would be. They were so close to the city before, and if anyone was coming, they would have found the quarry camp from location alone or from Glenn's runs into Atlanta... In an office chair, Chrissy curled into the fetal position. It never felt like someone was coming for them, but being right never hurt so badly.

"Dr. Jenner, I know this has been taxing for you, and I hate to ask one more question, but that clock--" Dale indicated a timer, big red letters over a doorway she hadn't noticed. "--it's counting down. What happens at zero?"

Jenner was too hesitant, then quickly spoke. "The basement generators-- they run out of fuel."

"And then?" Rick asked. Jenner retreated, taking his now-cold coffee. "Vi, what happens when the power runs out?"

"When the power runs out, facility-wide decontamination will occur."

Shane and Rick led a group to check out the generators. Sophia and Carol floated around Cory, and Chrissy didn't want to breach their cloak of comfort and accidentally upset him. Since crying to her the night of Jim's death, they hadn't spoken more than solitary and unintentionally biting words. Maybe time apart was worth it. Finding Jim seemed to get him away from their parents' deaths and maybe finding better friends in Carl and Sophia would help him this time.

Bri's hand covered her mouth, and she ran from the shell-shocked group with Chrissy on her heels. In the nearest unlocked room, Bri's breakfast came up in a dusty wastebasket.

"I hate being right." Chrissy said, leaning against the open door.

Bri wiped her mouth, confused. "What?"

"Gut feelings. Hate when they're right."

"Yeah." Tying back her luckily unscathed hair, Bri brushed past. "I'm gonna pack up."

"Hey- did you even bring in your bag?" Chrissy fell in step with her. "Not like you came by."

"Y'all were asleep so I didn't wanna bug y'all."

"Mmhmm." Cheekily, hoping to lighten the mood, Chrissy said, "I honestly thought those whispers 'bout you and Shane were just talk."

Bri's sideward glare didn't help her own case or provide an answer. "There are worse people to have rumors about."

Cryptic, but sure. "Where' d you end up sleepin'?"

"Game room."

"And where did Shane sleep?"

"Don't know." Bri circled her temples, ducking into Chrissy's temporary room. "You're nosey as hell today."

"Y'all were sharin' some looks at breakfast. Aspirin for aches and pains..."

Stalk-straight, Bri threw up her hands. "We had a long talk 'bout things, makin' sure we're on the same page. And I haven't used the axe in forever. Fold those blankets."

Chrissy did as instructed. "Don't sound like you slept well."

"Couch was better than the ground." Bri rummaged through the drawers, taking the last clothes of the prior tenants. Chrissy cleared the bathroom and took two medical books from the shelf.

"What did y'all talk about?" Chrissy poked.

"Adult stuff."

Snickering, Chrissy murmured. "Wrong answer."

A balled up jacket smacked Chrissy in the chest. Bri looked more annoyed than mad, but Chrissy wasn't gonna push it anymore.

"Let's leave it--"

The lights flickered off.

Bri tried the switch. Nothing. The electric fan in the corner slowed to a stop.

The heads poking in the hallway shared the same confusion.

"Energy use is being prioritized." Jenner took a swig from a bottle. "Zone 5 is shutting itself down."

The group followed him into the control room.

"Hey! Hey, what the hell does that mean." Jenner ignored Daryl as he shoved his way to the man. "Hey, man, I'm talkin' to you. What d'ya mean it's shuttin' itself down? How can a building do anything?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was silly and stupid when Bri was cryptic, but Jenner's incoherence was dire. No generators, no power, then... oh.

What had Chrissy thought decontamination meant? In whatever way, it was the end of the CDC, and Bri was right to be sick, and right to pack.

"It was the French." Jenner told Andrea. "They were the last ones to hold out, as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs 'til the end. They thought they were close to a solution."

"What happened?"

"Same thing that's happening here. No power grid. Ran out of juice. The world runs on fossil fuel, I mean, how stupid is that?"

Chrissy took Bri's hand, and seeing Cory sandwiched between Lori and Carol, didn't her stop her tears from forming at Jenner's harshness.

"Lori, grab our things. Everybody get your stuff, we're getting out of here, now!" Wailing alarms swallowed the echo of Rick's voice before it reached their ears.

The alarm cut swiftly, but Jenner's speechlessness invited no comfort. It rang in Chrissy's ears, blaring to get out now. He was a ticking time bomb.

Shane took to the stairs, "Everybody, y'all heard Rick. Get your stuff, and let's go, now!"

As they ran to the exit, glass barriers rose to block them.

"Did you just lock us in?" Glenn shrieked. "He just locked us in!"

Chrissy's sweat-slick palm slipped from Bri's grasp as the older girl ran after Shane and Daryl, the latter aiming a near-empty bottle at Jenner's head. T-Dog shielded Jenner from the men and pushed Bri back.

"Hey, Jenner, open that door now." Rick demanded.

"There's no point, everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed." Matter-of-factly, Jenner turned focus to his computer. "I told you once that front door closed, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that."

They didn't know to take him literally. With bile in her throat, Chrissy found Bri holding Daryl's bottle. She held it like a weapon, too.

"It's better this way." Jenner said.

"What is? What happens in twenty-eight minutes?" Rick slammed his hand on the desk. "What happens--!"

"You know what this place is?!" Jenner stood, knocking Rick back. "We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don't want getting out! Ever!" Pulses risen, Jenner straightened his coat and calmed, returning to his empty screen. "In the event of a catastrophic power failure-- in a terrorist attack, for example-- H.I.T.s are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

"H.I.T.s?"

"VI, define."

"H.I.T.s: high-impulse thermobaric fuel-air explosives consist of a two-stage aerosol ignition..." Past the part about explosives, Chrissy tapped out. This wasn't it. Couldn't be. It wasn't clicking. "...is useful when the greatest loss of life and damage to structures is desired."

"It sets the air on fire." Jenner said peacefully. "No pain. And end to sorrow, grief... regret. Everything."

Chrissy was stuck still. There were things she was supposed to do... not that she could name them under pressure, but there was supposed to be more. Dad always said there was always more to be done, always something brighter. Like T thought, was this the time to start praying? Chrissy wasn't sure she knew how.

Daryl made the first move on the glass doors, using a fire axe, unsuccessful in chipping or cracking the shield. Shane joined his efforts, and when the shock wore off on T-Dog and Glenn, they tried everything not bolted down.

Sophia and Carol comforted Cory, and it felt like he wasn't Chrissy's job anymore.

Bri came behind Jenner with the bottle, waving it broadly in threat. "So what if that's not for me?"

The doctor clicked keys, only changing the smallest numbers on the screen. "I'm not following."

"You don't choose for me." Bri gripped the bottle neck, not hiding her own tears. "I choose for me."

Jenner said, looking to her, "This is so much easier. You know what's out there-- a short, brutal life and an agonizing death."

"And I wanna choose that over just bein' _gone_. Giving me the choice has to sound much easier than havin' a dozen deaths on your conscience." Huffing, Bri swung the bottle back in a wide gesture, before turning her back on Jenner and the crowd. Turning back shortly, she barked out, "Not like you'd have to live with it for very long anyway."

"Is that life what you want for your family?" Jenner's gesture to Chrissy made her stomach churn.

"I choose for myself." Chrissy said, voice surprisingly rigid. "I do what I want and I didn't wake up wantin' to die."

"I- is this really what you want for you wife and son?" Jenner said to Rick, rather than the teenager.

"I don't want _this_."

"You do want this. Last night you said you knew it was just a matter of time before everyone you loved was dead."

Jenner's words gave the Grimes family reasonable pause.

Shane clenched his jaw, "What? You really said that? After all your big talk?"

"I had to keep hope alive, didn't I?"

"There is no hope." Jenner said. "There never was."

"There's always hope. Maybe it won't be you, maybe not here, but somebody somewhere--"

Andrea's interruption, gloomy confirmation of Jenner's words wasn't Chrissy's business. Chrissy crossed the conversation to Bri, and pushed the bottle from her hands, shattering on the ground as Chrissy wrapped her arms around Bri's shoulders.

"Wouldn't it be kinder..." Jenner said, pleading to the mothers why they should allow him to kill them and their children.

Chrissy sniffed into Bri's shoulder. Bri hadn't drank enough to smell like whiskey. Just men's body wash, too strong, like a Hollister. "Thought he was killin' us by leavin' us out..."

Shane didn't shoot Jenner when he threatened to. It didn't sit right that Bri didn't oppose it, but Bri wasn't thinking right. At least she winced when he shot at the computers, then the light fixtures. Bri moved Chrissy behind a row of computers when Shane wouldn't put the gun down.

Rick stopped Shane's rampage, pinning him to the ground with a threat. Pointing at Jenner, Rick cleared the distance between them. "I think you're lying. About no hope. If that were true, you'd have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. You didn't. You chose the hard path. Why?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. It always matters. You stayed when others ran. Why?" Rick repeated.

"Not because I wanted to." Jenner towered over Rick. "I made a promise... to her." He pointed at the unlit screen along the walls. "My wife. She begged me to keep going as long as I could. How could I say no? She was dying. It should've been me on that table. I wouldn't have mattered to anybody. She was a loss to the world. Hell, she ran this place. I just worked here. In our field, she was an Einstein. Me? I'm just... Edwin Jenner. She could've done something about this. Not me."

"Your wife didn't have a choice. You do. That's-- that's all we want-- a choice--" Rick pointed at his family, and at Chrissy huddled at Bri's side. "--a chance."

"Let us keep trying as long as we can." Lori pled.

In Jenner's silent contemplation, Daryl pounded away at the door with the butt of the axe.

"I told you topside's locked down. I can't open those."

Jenner pressed in a code, releasing the glass barriers and Daryl was the first out.

Chrissy tugged on Bri's sleeve, and Bri waited a second too long to follow behind. Fury leapt behind Bri's tears and Chrissy didn't know what she was feeling or what Bri was feeling. Should've been relief. But it didn't seem like it. Tugging on Bri kept her moving, and passing Rick and Jenner, Chrissy caught the end of their conversation.

"I'm grateful."

"The day will come when you won't be."

Running up the ramp, taking Cory under her arm, Chrissy jumped through the doorframe as if the glass barrier would shut again in seconds. The group took the stairs by two until arriving in the entrance hall. The glass underground would withstand a rocket launcher, Jenner said, and Shane's gunfire barely blemished the front windows.

"Rick, I have something that might help." Carol dug through her knapsack.

Shane bellowed, "Carol, I don't think a nail file is gonna do it."

"Your first morning at camp, when I washed your uniform, I found this in your pocket." Carol produced a hand grenade, shaking.

Rick took it with a moment of hesitation, and the group fell flat on the ground beyond the stairwell, hopefully beyond the blast's radius. Ducking her head like a tornado drill, Chrissy's ears were protected from the shattering. Cory wasn't as quick, and briefly disoriented, Chrissy dragged him to the manmade exit.

The grenade blast woke the walkers on the lawn. Jowls creaked open, some burst by a stray bullet or arrow, but most were dodged helplessly by the underarmed group.

Chrissy aimed for the church van in the middle of the row of cars across the street, as T-Dog ran with the keys. They climbed in and Bri pushed Cory behind the seats, waiting for oncoming blast.

With heaving chests, they anticipated something like the napalm over Atlanta. Instead, it was a sweeping rumble, murmuring beneath the ground. Then a series of blasts from within. It blew out the windows, flames licking over the lawns and rows of walkers. The CDC collapsed in billowing smoke, but it was no controlled demolition. It was volcanic how the roof shot upwards, its panels flying into flames like fireworks.

Chrissy made sure Cory plugged his ears, but she couldn't push him away from watching the explosive waves of fire and broken glass. From behind a stack of sandbags, Dale and Andrea ran to the RV. Chrissy hadn't noticed them make it out, or even stay behind in the first place.

Chrissy climbed into the front seat, and asked T-Dog as he started the engine, "Were Dale and Andrea the only ones who stayed, or...?"

"Jacqui." T sniffed, and looked to the road ahead, blinking back tears. "Jacqui stayed. Said that was _her_ choice."

T was quiet after. With Cory wrapped in Bri's arms, each sobbing, Chrissy didn't know what to say. Was there anything to say?

She looked out the back window until the only reminder of the CDC was a twisted gut and mile-high black smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate recycling excessive dialogue from the show but this ep sets up so many themes i had to... i mean 'the day will come when you won't be'..... hear me out...


	10. Highway

They followed a different route west to scavenge other off-road gas stations. The rations from Bri, Shane, and T-Dog's run would carry them for three days max, and the bulk of their clothing, sleeping bags, and toiletries were smoldering in the tomb of the CDC. They didn't talk in the van; Bri hadn't lifted her head from Cory's, except during their first pitstop, when Shane and Glenn came to check on the quartet. Even on the second stop, as the vehicles drained gasoline and their caravan halved in size, Bri climbed into the RV with Cory in a sloth's grip over her chest. The RV was no better. There were only Glenn's pen scratches, Dale's occasional cough, and Bri's head hammering. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but when she woke in the mid-afternoon, they were in a neighborhood beyond the quarry.

They couldn't pull Andrea from her catatonia, curled in the bed across from where Jim died three days before. Bri felt high and mighty. At least she found strength enough to slide Cory from her lap and stretch her legs on the residential road.

"I'll bite." said Dale. "What happens now?"

Silence pressed between them. 

Rick seemed at a loss for a plan. That is what premature celebration will do. Bolstering Shane's standing, Bri said, "Fort Benning. And if it's a bust... we gotta make our safe haven by ourselves."

Shane's words echoed, _Seems too good to be true_. No one argued against Fort Benning.

Rick cocked his head, rearing to respond, but Lori spoke first, "We have to rest. Gotta find somewhere, just a few days to..." Lori faltered, tucking her head to her shoulder.

"A night or two to figure out what we're doin'." Rick completed.

"Why not one'a these?" Daryl gestured to the houses along the road, uniform in structure, painted tints of brown and green. "We're here already."

"Too close to the city." said Glenn, "Me and Mo were here overnight and there were people around. I don't want to risk it. We're too tired."

It dawned on Bri, "I know a place. There won't be supplies, not like we need, but it's out of the way a bit, and it's shelter."

She had it marked on James' map, which Glenn had gracefully forgotten in the RV before the CDC. It was good enough, and all they needed was somewhere good enough. Shane, Rick, Glenn, and Daryl split from the group and swept through the nearest houses. There was minimal food and blankets, but they found pillows and towels.

Chrissy remained in the RV with T-Dog. She made sure he ate, and that Cory ate, and that Andrea at least drank some water. Bri didn't know if Chrissy cried at all after leaving that place. Bri had. It was so fucked up, and it happened so fast, and she was barely present for any of it. She had talked to Shane, painted Sophia's nails, was talked at by Rick, then Daryl, she remembered. Her head was there enough to lie through breakfast. Then they were locked in. And then they were out. Bri didn't know if there was much more to it.

Shane sat beside her in the RV booth, with Bri sideways with her back against the wall. Shane had asked if she was okay. Until his hand was on her shoulder, she didn't know she started to cry again. It wouldn't be the last time, with where they were going, but she stopped for the moment, feeling eyes trying not to stare.

They pulled in next to Sage's. Past the airport, the stretch she once walked, was a minutes-long drive. The vortex of time, the mile or five, she couldn't tell, made her conscious, more than she had been.

In the time she wasted at the quarry, she would have made it upstate. Six weeks. She would know by now.

"Bri." Shane grabbed her arm. It took a moment to move.

The spare key remained in the weeds where she'd thrown it after her last visit. She hadn't hid it, because she wasn't planning on returning. As the group funneled in with their meager belongings, Bri diligently tucked the key beneath the weeds and dirt.

Death lingered in the walls. There was more blood, it seemed. Had she been so far gone the last time she was around, that she didn't feel how changed the place was? Bri brought the group here for their sake. She would have to make the most of it.

Bri closed herself in Sage's office and cried. There was blood on the seat, so she sat beneath his crusty metal desk, brought in from a yard sale more than twenty years before. She emptied her stomach into a fly-ridden trash can, and after tying off the bag, she emptied her red hiking pack on the floor.

She yelled when someone cracked the door, shrieked for them to get the fuck out. Shane wouldn't have closed the door without a word, neither would Chrissy. Glenn would have apologized. It was probably Cory.

She had photo albums, the three of them.

Benny wasn't decade-old photos. She saw him everywhere and she hadn't peered through the hand-glued books in so long. Tam and Dad left him behind, and he was hers to have. She thought she was carrying him with her. But by dragging him on, she was beating a dead horse. She almost died trapped underground, and he would've been sitting out in the RV until someone looted it. It would've gotten thrown somewhere. Maybe someone would be bored enough to peek into their lives, but no one would care as much as she did, and she'd be dead. Nobody needed to know her, but, God, there needed to be someone who remembered Benny.

She skimmed one album, finding herself and her little white dress under the pride flag, singing "The Man That Got Away," and another shot from the same night when she was presented a shitty little trophy which still sat on her dresser at home in the city. When Bri would brush her teeth in the RV bathroom, she avoided the mirror, because whatever was there didn't look too much like her. Standing under the flag, with Benny smiling from the sidelines, Bri was the most _her_ she had ever been.

_The writing's on the wall, the dreams you dreamed have all gone astray._

She stopped there. She tucked the albums in the lowest drawer on the side of the desk, but while she curled into the fetal position to sleep, she left it open. This was her one last visit. She was sure of it this time.

* * *

"Bitch is gon' die if she don't shape up."

"He doesn't mean it." Carol said to a quickly anxious Sophia.

"Naw," Daryl twisted his squirrel spigot over the small trash fire, "dehydration gon' get her ass. Barfs up everythin' nowadays. If somethin' goes in, it's a drink." He huffed at the variety in their expressions. "Y'all ain't know she's an alcoholic? What is it, best kept secret? I _know_ that ain't." He shot Shane a pointed look at Shane, who grimaced, and Officer Grimes, who sighed and hung his head.

Of course, it'd be the guy who didn't know any better, who got the kid drunk. No one was gonna blame Rick Grimes neither. Daryl hadn't cleaned up Merle in months, but clearing the damage was old hat. Spilled wine was nothing compared to vomit and day-old shit.

Daryl liked his drink. He could appreciate it without abusing it. For a man with his lineage, it was a fact he was damn proud of.

Bri didn't remind him of anyone specifically, but he'd grown up with too many girls like her. He'd been with a few with her same silent, sad temperament. Daryl wasn't pointing a finger at her problems, he had his share. Daryl knew how to calm Merle, take a grown man from a hundred percent coke-fueled fury to a ten percent simmer. He couldn't be so rough on her, as if he'd step out of his way to help. He also didn't want to say anything to her and mess with whatever Walsh was trying with her. Which Daryl wasn't sure about, considering Shane was sticking it to his best friend's wife, and despite the camp's whispers, likely was not sticking it to Bri. Daryl never listened in on one of Shane's fireside chats, but the kid, Cory, said he was real encouraging. Bri didn't seem like she needed a motivational speaker, but she didn't need a knock upside the head neither. But Daryl's opinion certainly didn't matter to this crowd.

Christine stood to take water to Bri's solitary confinement.

"Careful she ain't cut herself up again." Daryl said.

Shane made the teen sit with her brother, and went with water and granola. He came back empty-handed, said she'd passed out after eating half. He added, "I'm not inclined to dictate what y'all do in y'all's free time, but maybe avoid havin' alcohol around. Might lock up the medkits better, too."

Rick looked guilty; more guilty for imbibing Bri than cuffing Merle. "You think she'd drink rubbing alcohol?"

"We've been diluting it with vodka, as we've run out." said Dale, removing his floppy hat.

"I should be sittin' with her." Chris said, all nervy. There was a week there where Daryl was in awe of her gall. Now she was shit-scared as the rest of them. "After she freaked out, it helped to distract her."

"Shane, is this someone we should be worried about?" Rick sighed. "She said to me, my first day in camp, there was a _situation_ , why Christine was on the run and she wasn't. Is she stable? To be around the children? The way she yelled at Cory?"

"Didn't know it was me." peeped the kid, curled in Bri's big sweatshirt.

Shane scratched his skull. "Bri came in with the kids right at the beginning. Had some breakdowns, a lot of off-days, but when she could help, she did. She does. Chris is right. Distracting works. This road... it's gonna be ass for the rest of us. Bri, though... I trust Bri to handle it."

"Twisted." Daryl muttered.

Walsh's lying was almost funny. When Bri wasn't having a meltdown or avoiding the Mamas, she was chatting with Merle at their camp. To be fair, she was always floating just high enough to be fun company, but she certainly wasn't helping. Now Amy wasn't gonna be around, he'd let Shane see if his lying would spur to life a new and improved Bri. In the mean time, Daryl wouldn't tell Officer Friendly about Bri's more questionable acquaintances. It was the least he could do, and it was all he was gonna do.

* * *

Shane was on watch when Bri trailed out. They weren’t the only two up, they could tell from the tossing and turning, but they sat on the stoop outside to be respectful.

"Lost you there for a second."

"Yeah, well, I had things to do."

From outside the small office, the thing Bri appeared to do was bawl herself exhausted. He waited for her explanation, but it didn’t come.

Shane tried, "This place important?"

"The most. Shouldn't've come back. Wasn't gonna. But I figured something out."

Again, Bri didn't share.

"Did Rick give you somethin' to drink last night?"

"Yeah, he was already too far gone to tell I didn't need it." Her laugh was forced and self-reproachful, blaming herself more than Rick. Well-meaning Rick. "He seems like a good person, but I don't trust him. Glenn does, and Chris might, but he was so quick to think he found the answer... You said Jenner made you think about something, and that I made you think of something, too."

Shane knew he said something to that cryptic effect. "I was drunk off my ass." Bri's eyes bore holes in his temple. Sacking up, Shane rolled his shoulders and stared back. "You didn't share, so I don't have to."

"I buried the last of my brother. I think it's what I needed to do." Her eyes were bleary, and her words were plain. She was sober and honest.

Shane held his head in his hands. Everything was falling apart around him. At camp, the world was over, but he had it handled. When Shane announced they would likely leave the CDC for Fort Benning, Jenner said it was best to let it die. _There's no changing nature's course._ Shane didn't believe in some biblical evil, but by locking them in a box and lighting a match while they watched, Jenner took away their choice to live. The feeling he had in the CDC, that was a moment of inhumanity. He wanted to take Jenner's choice, if the man was going to take theirs. What felt worse was that it still felt like the right thing.

Bri didn't know she set off that fury, made him recognize something he didn't like too much.

She rolled her eyes when he finally looked back. "I need aspirin. Is there some in the RV?"

The RV was parked to the side of the small stone building. A colorful pinwheel lie crushed under the front of the vehicle, and beside it lie the bodies they removed from the store. There was no point in lighting a fire.

Shane left his knife with Bri, not considering Dixon's words until he'd hopped into the RV. Aspirin. She wasn't whining for a drink, she was sensible and awake. He wasn't worried. Shane palmed the aspirin tablets and took a bag of stale Doritos.

Shane handed them over, "Something light."

Bri thanked him, pulled her half drunk bottle from the unscorched windbreaker. "Was Cory too traumatized?"

"He knew you didn't know."

"Good. I knew it was probably him. Not too many people would come after me."

"How'd you know it wasn't me?"

"You would've talked back at me."

Shane hoped he wouldn't've yelled, but if she hollered at him like she did Cory, he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't fight right back. He almost checked on her, but he was watching Lori try and fail to explain Bri's mess to Carl. And Cory got sick of everyone setting up shop instead of checking on Bri. Chrissy was busy helping Dog unload the RV.

Cory had gotten sniffly, and after Dixon's words at dinner, he cried himself to sleep on his sister. Those kids slept more than Carl and Sophia, and they deserved the sleep more, too.

"There's pictures of you on the bulletin board."

"I know, I'm leaving them. They're a part of the building. It's just a building now, I think."

Shane wouldn't tell Bri how Chrissy pocketed a snapshot of a preteen, newly braces-free Bri with a college-aged brother, face copied and pasted. The man with them was older and kissing on the brother's cheek. The picture might've been for Bri and it might've been for Chrissy.

"What are _you_ thinkin' about?" Bri said it in a way which made him want to say Lori, but for the moment, he wasn't. He hadn't the night before, either, until he'd drunk himself into a hole. He considered downing the bottle and smashing it for some attention, to see if Lori wouldn't stitch him up, have a reason to touch him again.

Shane thought of the brash words over dinner. "Dixon thinks he knows somethin' everyone else don't."

Bri's brows quirked in intrigue.

"I mean," Shane was going to say the man knew about him and Lori, but instead he said, "he had some words about you."

"Is that right?" She shrugged. "I think I got him figured out anyway."

"Care to share?"

"I mean I figured out why he acts how he does towards me. He's got good intentions, I think."

Soon, T-Dog swapped shifts, opting to climb atop the RV for a wider cover, a better course of action than Shane's milling around. T-Dog settled into place without word. Shane couldn't remember him speaking since they'd been on the road.

"Dog, you sure you're good to take it?"

"Man, y'all better get some shut-eye." T-Dog tried to joke, "Before I change my mind."

Inside, twisting and turning and quiet footsteps sounded out. Dripping somewhere along the walls caught his ear, too. Chrissy floated between unclaimed corners of the store, digging through boxes and shelves. She smiled at Bri, and Bri tried to smile back.

Bri asked him quietly, stepping around Glenn's pallet by the front door, "Got anything else to eat?"

He cracked open a can for her. _Bitch is gon' die if she don't shape up_. No. Shane was right when he defended her before. For now, Bri was gonna be just fine.

* * *

Chrissy waited up for Bri, and Bri slunk off with Shane as soon as she was awake. Chrissy couldn't sleep after, admittedly pissed, more at herself, for not trying harder.

Even through the night, Chrissy tossed back and forth on the blood-stained, dust-bunnied store floor. When Bri and Shane's conversation died, and Bri slipped between the racks, Chrissy came beside her, carefully taking her arm to warn of her presence.

"We need to talk."

"About...?"

 _You're a fucking idiot_. Chrissy didn't say it, but Bri's typically blank face was twisted in thought, a half-scowl, like Chrissy might have accidentally blurted it out loud.

"You hesitated." Chrissy said.

"Excuse me?" Bri wasn't annoyed, she was just confused.

Chrissy breathed a sigh. "At the CDC."

Shrugging, Bri started towards a back room. "I was gonna kill him."

"That's the only reason?"

"I... yeah, pretty much."

_Were you going to kill yourself, let yourself get blown with Jacqui to say hi to Amy and Jim again?_

_Or to see Benny?_

"Didn't wanna die or nothing?" Chrissy surprised herself with how kind she sounded out loud. Her own emotional volatility was surely mirrored by Bri and she couldn't fault either of them. She knew that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't. I'm having a hard time, but I'm not Andrea." Bri threw callously.

Chrissy defended, "Andrea just wanted to stay."

"I'm not judging her. I just know what it would have done to Dale." Quickly she spoke, tugging her jacket around her with a yawn. "And I don't blame him for staying either but... no. I left because you helped me leave. I think I would have stayed to kill Jenner. So, uh, thank you."

Bri was judging Andrea, and Dale, and by proxy, Jacqui and Jenner, and Chrissy wasn't sure Bri wasn't jealous of them.

Chrissy wiped her eyes. "I was just doing the right thing."

"I think we should sleep." Bri spoke sharply, like she was ashamed or like she didn't want Chrissy dwelling on the CDC, but it was so fucked up--

Bri cracked open another room off to the side. Cigarette smoke was baked into the walls, and Bri wafted the door to disseminate the dust and odor. Bri dug around the cabinets, plucking several cleaning products and potentially useful knickknacks for the road. Bri offered a thin blanket to Chrissy.

"Bri." Chrissy's voice warbled.

"Yes?"

She admitted, the tip of her iceberg of worries. "I'm so scared Cory will die."

"We're all looking out for him."

"I can't do it alone." _I wasn't meant to_ , Chrissy thought. Things happen for a reason. The universe evening out, like T said. Bri found them for a reason.

"Well, you have the group."

That's not what Chrissy meant. Bri avoided her eye contact and Chrissy knew Bri knew, too. Chrissy needed an answer. She'd accept a yes or no to the question of Bri wanting to live. She needed to prove Daryl Dixon wrong.

Bri passed out, and despite being behind closed doors, with someone on guard outside, it still didn't feel right to fall asleep, too.

Carl wanted to ride with Cory in the morning. Bri tucked in the corner of the booth in the RV without a look back inside the building. Shane sat by her, and Andrea was across from them. Chrissy was left with the bed where Jim died or the seat by Andrea, and chose the latter with a sigh.

Bri's handguns were all similar, and Shane placed two on the table, sliding one to Bri. Shane striped off the pieces slowly, so Bri could match his movements. It wasn't done without shaking wrists, and expletives each time Bri dropped a piece to her lap, but Bri was determined. And Shane was calm with her. Twice, they rebuilt the body of the weapon, then he showed her how to clean it. Shane explained the basic solvents and spread out brushes over a hand towel.

"Looks complicated." Andrea watched intently.

Bri fumbled the barrel, a little piece bouncing Chrissy's way. Catching it, she passed it back. "Looks breezy to me."

"Extremely." Bri twisted her face in concentration.

They drove on, and finished cleaning.

"I could clean yours," Shane said to Andrea. "Bit different, I'll show you how."

Andrea nodded, and Shane pulled Andrea's pistol from the gun bag, scanning it over. "It's a sweet piece."

The blonde sat straighter, leaning on her elbows. "It was a gift from my father. He gave it to me just before Amy and I took off on our road trip. Said two girls on their own should be able to defend themselves."

"But you don't know how to use it?" Chrissy wondered.

Bri chuckled. "Could always knock someone upside the head with it." 

* * *

The stretch of highway, the technically wrong direction, they followed away from the record store was blocked by a tipped eighteen-wheeler. Abandoned cars now lined both sects of the highway. Daryl went ahead on his motorcycle, finding gaps where the RV had space to move through.

Carl, Cory, and Sophia murmured in the backseat. For her own sake more than her son's, Lori took Carl's hand until not a minute later, the RV's crawl stopped in a sputtering mess of smoke.

"Dead in the water." Dale grumbled.

"Problem, Dale?" Shane said.

"Just a small matter of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of... okay, that was dumb."

There were cars on every side of them, filled and spilling onto the concrete. There was plenty to be found, as it seemed they were the first to come upon this part of the pile-up. But they already passed cars holding the undead, ones which might not have been put down yet.

"This is a graveyard." Lori hugged herself. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"You don't have to look." Bri grabbed an abandoned suitcase. "But we do."

Lori pulled Carl to the passenger's side of a compact red car, jumping when Bri hefted the suitcase onto the trunk with a bang.

Carl's hand remained in hers, but Lori shrieked regardless when she saw the brown mop of hair climb a ladder to the top of a van near them.

"Cory, get off of there." Her hands reached out instinctively, fearful he would lose his footing. "C'mon."

He sawed at a bungee cord with his pocketknife. "Catch this first."

"Don't saw it," called Bri. "Unclip it, we can use them."

Lori repeated, "Get down, Cory."

"There's stuff we could use--"

"This isn't a playground."

Bri neared with her axe and a blanket over her shoulder. "Cory, be careful."

With a sideward glare, Lori pled for Bri's intervention.

Bri's words came with a rub to her temple. "Come on down, Cor. I'll take a look. Go help Dale."

When he was out of earshot, Lori admonished, "He needs someone to tell him _no_."

"He wants to be helpful. Y'all were watchin' out." Bri tacked on, "Thank you."

She genuinely seemed ignorant the danger in Cory's free reign. Lori, Carol, Miranda, and Jacqui, God rest her, all knew Cory would answer to Bri but Bri wouldn't ask to be answered to. It takes a village, right? Lori didn't want to hear of any more fingers flattened in the engine.

Carol held a blouse to her chest, checking color and fit. She caught Lori's staring, "Ed never let me wear nice things like this. We're gonna need clothes."

Lori let a hand linger on her friend's shoulder. She couldn't claim to understand Carol's newfound freedom, or her calm care over it and her daughter.

Nearby, T-Dog siphoned gas, with Chrissy digging through cars in his sightline.

"Mama, can I help Chrissy?" Sophia's ragdoll hung in her hand while Chrissy's held tight on a knife. The younger girl's knapsack hung off her shoulders.

After a moment, Carol decided, "You stay where I can see you, that means you can see me, too, okay?"

"Okay!"

Lori's eyes followed the girls, "Carl, stay by me, hun."

Clattering wheels drummed along the concrete, bouncing here and there over fallen items and potholes.

"Looook what I found." Bri giggled in disbelief. "Shoved in the back of that van."

Lori couldn't mask her relief at seeing a Walmart buggy full of protein bars and camping gear. Bungee cords and the luggage they contained were set on the bottom rungs.

"Anything worthwhile here?"

Lori faltered.

At the woman's pause, Bri hurriedly said, "I didn't mean to be rude, back there, if it sounded rude."

Lori didn't know which thing Bri was apologizing for.

"I had this thing about not going into houses, at the beginning," Bri admitted, "and I only went to one. And I found them... it still sounds weird to me, to go through people's stuff like this, but..."

"And the bodies." Lori agreed.

"Harder to surprise you comin' from the cars, though."

Carl came along, in awe at Bri's presentation. "I only got this." He held a Sudoku book and padded lunch kit.

"Throw 'em in." Bri revved the buggy handles like a motorbike, and Carl followed her to another car, windows covered with hanging garment bags.

Being only one car over, Lori dealt with it. Bri wasn’t bad. Shane had a healthy deal of trust for her, and Lori didn't know how it made her feel. Replaced maybe. Not jealous. Maybe relieved. But even with the occasional too-long look at Lori, Bri was his new focus. Not new even. He’d cared a bit in camp, didn’t want a loose screw. It was a hearty claim that this road would do her some good, but Bri laughed as they dug through car trunks. Bri and Carl were cracking jokes around the corpses.

Should Bri's blasé attitude worry her, or should Lori be glad her son wasn't terrified?

"Lori, under the cars!" Rick shuffled towards her, voice hushed and laced with fear.

Lori yelped, "Carl--!"

The doors of Bri and Carl's car clicked shut, with the garment bags blocking the side views.

Carol stood between two vans, eyes darting wildly.

"Sophia--" Lori clamped her hand on Carol's mouth to muffle incoming sobs. Carol fought against her grasp, as she pulled her friend to the ground.

Lori couldn't say Sophia would be fine, because she hadn't seen her, not for a second. She shushed Carol calm.

Rick held her eye contact and nodded, acknowledging he'd seen Carl hop in the car.

Lori smelled them before she heard them. The mass of walkers filed between cars. She whispered silent prayers it would pass.

The groans covered their heavy breathing. Lori's hand went numb, with eyes watering from keeping them too-wide, staring at the blocked windows of Carl's car.

The shuffling stopped. A growl here or there. But it was done and passed.

Whimpers came from behind their feet, and imminent shushing.

Chrissy's bright, clear voice shouted, "No!"

Carol sobbed, unable to see the action, and Lori's fear got the better of her. She turned Carol loose from her grip.

Lori didn't see Sophia. She just saw Chrissy leaping like a shooting star over the guardrail, into the forest.

Rick followed with his gun raised, swallowed by green without checking once for permission. Carol clawed at Daryl's arms, trying to follow her daughter into the woods.

As she passed Bri, fighting in Shane's grasp, Lori took Carl into her arms. Shamefully, Lori was just relieved it wasn't her child who ran.

* * *

Cory sat on the roof of the RV. He could see the forest from there, so he could see when Chrissy got back.

Cory cried a lot of tears for Jim, then for Jacqui, and he couldn't cry anymore for Chrissy. Maybe not being able to cry meant she'd be coming back around.

Cory could see Shane from where he played dead under a truck, and because Cory was so quick to drop to the gravel, he knew Chrissy and Bri would be fine. Until he heard Chrissy's scream for Sophia. Cory had crawled from his hiding spot, in time to see Bri hit Shane. It was only because he held her back, and when she did it again, it was because he wouldn't let her go into the woods with the men.

Shane and Glenn came back alone but Cory wasn't worried yet.

It was when Rick and Daryl came back with nothing that Cory's heart hammered. They focused on Carol, who was about to have a panic attack like Chrissy, but Cory was about to have a heart attack like Mr. Washington had at church one time.

Carol would've been screaming if they were gone for sure.

Dale tried to comfort Cory with small talk, not parsing out his usual tidbits of knowledge, but trying to get Cory to talk about anything. "Bri's down there getting supplies, why don't you go help her out?" 

Cory felt like he would boil over, felt like screaming, like jumping on the RV so all the walkers would spill onto the highway again, so Shane and Glenn could go comb the forest floor and find Chrissy and Sophia.

Carl brought Dale a sleeve of weapons. When Dale went to place them in the cab, Cory said, "I'll sit with you during dinner."

Cory didn't go inside for dinner. Dale left him alone to go to bed, only because Cory promised he'd be right behind him. Instead, he watched the tree line, and watched Carol watching the tree line.

The moon was only a sliver at night, but Cory could see all trillion stars in the sky. Living in the suburbs, all the light from Atlanta swallowed the night sky.

When Daryl climbed the ladder and sat next to him for watch, he said, "It's bright enough to see. They'll be good, long as they're smart enough to hole up somewhere. And I know Chris is."

Worry gnawed at Cory's gut, and the gurgle meant hunger too. "What if they didn't meet up?"

"You wasn't listenin' when we talked to Carol?"

Cory shook his head.

"Chris caught up with Sophia real quick. Found some dead walkers, too. But then they veered way off, like somethin' spooked them." Cory clenched his fists around the cuffs of Bri's sweatshirt. "We killed a walker. Cut it open to make sure. We lost the tracks. Chris is smart. Probably got them somewhere for the night."

"Can you find the tracks again?"

"Goin' in the morning." He added, "I'd let you come."

"I'm not supposed to come with y'all?"

"They talked about you sticking with Dale."

"They?"

"Bri and Walsh."

Bri was probably broken up now. If Cory got lost in the woods, he didn't know what Bri would do.

"That's okay." Cory decided. He didn't want to see Chrissy if they found her and she wasn't... he got to say goodbye to Jim before bad became worse. If today was goodbye, Cory wished he would have rode in the RV with Chrissy.

Cory didn't want to say it out loud, that he didn't want to see her dead, but Daryl seemed to get it. They stayed quiet. There were no walker groans, just cicadas, and people walking around the RV.

"If Bri drinks, you tell me, alright?"

"Normally, I don't say nothin' about it." Cory shrugged, tucking himself into a ball.

"Nah. It ain't snitchin' if you say. Just come find me."

Cory liked Daryl even better now Merle wasn't around.

Cory awoke in Jim's old bed across from where Andrea slept restlessly. There were fresh sheets on the bed where Jim died. The light was low through the little windows, and Cory's mind saw patches of blood on the pillow when he sat up, even though T-Dog assured him everything was cleaned and nothing was left behind.

It was nice of Daryl to bring him in, but Cory preferred to sleep anywhere else. When Cory saw Daryl wandering around in low sunlight, Cory slipped on his shoes and met him at their pile of supplies.

"Do I get breakfast?" Cory tried to joke like Chrissy might joke, but Daryl ripped open a box of granola bars, holing them out for Cory to choose from.

"Won't have to worry about food for a bit, kid."

Cory munched on a bar with a chocolate drizzle, but the extra sweetness couldn't hide his grimace.

"All good?"

"Getting sick of granola bars."

Daryl continued busting open boxes and pouring their items into other boxes, so the supplies would all fit. "If it ain't dark when we get back, I'll take you huntin'."

"Really?"

"Might have to be tomorrow mornin', but... we should be gone by then."

They should have been safe in the quarry, should have been able to stay in at the CDC, they should have done a lot.

"Just next time you go, I'll go."

"Where are we going?" Bri asked, peeking her head over a box of clothes.

Cory squeaked, "You're scavenging alone?"

"Nah, Daryl's my lookout, right?"

With cocked eyebrows, Daryl said, "Sure."

A leather strap looped around Bri's belt, holstering her axe. Setting the clothes on the hood of Carol's car, she took a smaller loop of leather from her pocket. "See if your knife fits."

From where it was tucked in its sheath in his front pants pocket, Cory pulled his knife, and it easily tucked into the holder. Bri fastened it to the belt loop under his right hip.

"So you can reach it quick." She said, excitedly. "I'll have to find one for Chris." Her face fell, only just remembering Chrissy wasn't there.

"She would really like that."

Bri's smile didn't return, but she took his shoulder and brought him to the growing crowd in front of the RV.

Those who hadn't gone to sleep met with those who slept fitfully. Shane allowed the grownups to share his stock of energy drinks, but only after he offered one to Bri, and Glenn saw the interaction.

"Want a sip?" Bri held out a tall, purple can.

Cory sniffed it, "Is it like alcohol?"

Bri muttered something like, "God, I wish it was like alcohol," but aloud, she said, "Alcohol slows you down. This'll speed you up. A little bit."

Cory sipped from the popped top. It was fizzy like soda and tasted purple like grape Jolly Ranchers and cough syrup. "Blech!"

They passed granola bars and supplies to the rest of the group as they geared up to go into the woods.

"You're good to stay with Dale, right? T will be here, so you can help change his bandage. And you can reach things in cars that he can't." Bri offered it as a choice, but if, like Daryl said, she came to the conclusion with Shane, there wouldn't be an easy way out of it.

Carl piped, "Mom says I can go, so you can, too!"

That would mean Lori was in some way in charge of Cory. With Jim and Chrissy gone, Cory didn't want to answer to anyone but Bri. And maybe Dale.

"Dale needs me to fix the hose." Cory told Bri. "I don't want y'all watchin' me while you're lookin' for her."

Smoothing Cory's hair, Bri planted a kiss on his dirty forehead. "See ya later, then."

Carl hugged him goodbye, Glenn gave him a pat on the back.

Rick knelt beside him. "Son, we're gonna do everything we can to bring them back."

"Okay." Cory said. He hadn't forgotten Rick's grand promises to get Jim to the CDC, nor the promise that everything would be great once they got there. "Thanks."

"You have a weapon?"

Cory tucked the right side of his shirt into his pants so the leather holster was more accessible.

"Good job, kid." Rick gave him a pat on the head, too, but it was awkward, and didn't mean anything like Bri's affection meant.

Bri replaced Rick, kneeling. With a big sigh, she bit her lip, keeping tears back. "I can't promise anything." She didn't need to say anything else, those words were enough. She flattened the sides of his unbrushed bedhead. Quickly, she said, "There will always be someone around."

That sounded too much like goodbye.

"You'll be back later, right?"

"I'm plannin' on it."

Shane called her away, and Cory watched her heft Chrissy's backpack over her shoulders, easier to bring than her hiking pack. She gave him a last hug, and jumped the railing with the rest of them.

* * *

_I saved your life_.

Andrea couldn't say she was happy Dale didn't venture into the forest with the group, but she was content to not have his sad eyes staring after her. There was nothing peaceful about the sweaty agitation of trampling untrodden ground looking for invisible clues. There was a reason Andrea didn't go into a job with field work. Before the world ended, every snap of a twig could be someone malicious, but now every snap could be some _thing_.

Lori, ever benevolent, offered Andrea one of the short blades from the pack Carl found. Amy's voice tried to remind her to be kind, but Andrea snatched it away, quick to examine the weapon like she knew what imperfections to look for.

Andrea knew what she knew, not because she was eavesdropping, but because the pair of Shane and Lori had such a serious discussion out in the open, with plenty of their group scavenging cars in the area. Andrea happened to be the lucky one, and now she was sitting on a bomb. She wasn't sure if it tended towards gossip, or if it was information severe enough to be shared.

The group was quiet in the forest. Sure, they didn't want to draw walkers, but if the girls only heard trudging footsteps, wouldn't they run in the other direction? Would showing signs of life not be more effective?

The first tent they found was a bust. After Daryl found the long-dead body, and after Carol began to sob once more, Bri fell in step with Andrea. Something in Andrea stopped her from telling the younger girl to fuck off. Bri was missing someone, too.

They trailed at the back of the group, Shane in the rear and Glenn in front of them.

"I know how you're feeling." Bri said low.

Andrea liked it better when Bri was silent company. Her paced slowed. "I don't think you do."

"You don't know much about me." Bri shrugged and kept walking.

"You didn't know Amy, you didn't know Chris." Andrea's voice rose, enough for Glenn to turn around.

"Well, Chris isn't dead." Bri lacked conviction. "Doesn't mean I don't know."

"Bri." Glenn waved the girl to join him, sending Andrea a sidelong, un-Glenn-like look which told Andrea to back off.

Shane trailed beside Andrea. "She knows, knows exactly how you feel. I think it'd be good for y'all to make nice."

Andrea scoffed.

Bells began to clang. Church bells.

They ran far enough for the sound to grow louder, but once it surrounded them in overbearing waves, Shane called, "What direction?"

"I think that way, I'm pretty sure." Rick led them over fallen and weaving logs.

"If we hear them, maybe Sophia does, too." Carol said.

Andrea offered, "Chris wouldn't be too scared to make some noise."

"She wouldn't, would she." Laughed Bri, and Andrea saw a glimmer of hope. She hadn't realized how dead Bri's eyes were before.

The trees thinned out as they ran, and soon a church and its adjoining cemetery. Bri stopped before the rest.

"No steeple."

Shane said, "Rick, this can't be it."

Nevertheless, Rick, Daryl and Shane led the charge to the red double doors, up leave-covered steps.

Andrea waited with the rest, watching between Carol's waning hope and Bri's slow, crestfallen jog through the unkempt grave markers. The men took out the walkers inside, crusty, rotting things covered with dust. No one had been around for some time.

The bells rang again. There was no steeple, true, but the vibrations were different, more tinny. Daryl clambered around to find the source.

They stopped ringing. On the side of the church, beneath a speaker, was a box with a timer and wires. Bri leaned against the wall, knife in hand, having sliced the wires and cut the bells.

"It's on a timer." Bri said quietly.

"What?" Carol whimpered.

Bri took the wires in her hand and pulled them from the socket with pure force, tossing them on the ground and kicking at them and the wall of the church. Shane stopped her fists as they flew at the wooden wall. She didn't fight against him, just shrugged him off, exhausted. "Fucking timer."

"I'm gonna go back in for a bit." Gripping Lori's shoulder for a moment, Carol carried herself up the steps of the Southern Baptist Church of Holy Light.

Andrea didn't plan on going inside the church, and seeing Bri stooped below the bell timer, asked, "Do you mind company?"

Andrea had never been religious, but the ring of thin, wispy hair loosed from Bri's ponytail looked like a halo. Blaming the thought on dehydration would be too easy. Had Amy been at all religious? Their parents were passively Baptist and Amy wasn't so adventurous she would go on some philosophical journey. Or would she?

No, she wouldn't. Andrea decided it was better to create a concrete answer, so she wouldn't spend the little of what was left of her uncertain life on wondering. She should have spent the time before the world ended asking Amy those questions; every lunch break spent reading some trashy novel, or do-nothing weekend when Andrea would forget to return her sister's calls... how could she not regret that?

"I said you could sit."

Andrea slid the ground, careful of the ant beds scattered against the cracks of the church's façade. "Shane said you know."

Tucking her head into her shoulder, Bri said, "Yeah."

"What do you know?" Andrea's voice came out soft.

Bri looked at the bright blue sky, and the blistering sun poured down. "My brother. Died, killed himself a few years ago. So I get it. That's all I meant. Not that... I miss Amy, too, even though I do."

Andrea kept her voice even. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, me neither. I just wanted you to know that I've felt the same."

Though she couldn't see herself coming to a drunk kid for advice on how to mourn, Andrea's mind went to Chrissy. If Chrissy wasn't out there, if she or both of the girls were dead, Bri would need more than a little kid, an officer with one foot out of the door, and someone like Daryl Dixon to support her through the loss. Andrea couldn't see herself jumping to the plate, but she said, "Thank you." And she kind of meant it.

They sat for longer. The air was cleaner where the dead hadn't passed through. If there were a breeze, it would be pleasant picnic weather, but any moving air would carry in a stench. Andrea dug for a snack, finding a bottle of sunscreen in the process.

"Here. You're getting red."

Bri popped the cap and applied a thin layer across her face, neck, and back. "Dale better have some for Cory. I always forget to remind him."

"He's like Chrissy, he'll tan more."

"I don't want to risk it."

Andrea smiled. It was such a protective thing to say. Andrea hadn't been very kind to Bri before, but Bri's newfound vocal concern for the kids placed her in a different light. Did Bri remember how Andrea had her fair share of complaints when they were in the quarry? They only lived a tent away. Maybe Bri wasn't aware before. And maybe she couldn't bother with being bitter now.

"Can I be frank?"

Bri laughed without mirth. "Go for it."

"I have to admit that I thought you and Shane were shacking up." Andrea left out how she'd gained the information from both her sister and from Carol, at separate times, which made it more believable.

Bri laughed, but this time was more familiar; a laugh which used to ring in the quarry when Amy would drag Bri onto the boat. "You _thought_ or you _think_?"

" _Thought_. I just learned something new." God, Andrea sounded like it was freshman year of high school all over again, and the way Bri's brows quirked at the promise of something interesting reminded Andrea how young Bri was, closer to Chrissy's age than Amy's, if she remembered correctly.

"Something new, just now?"

"Yesterday. But I wasn't sure how you would take it." Andrea admitted. "It's been Shane and Lori this whole time, right? And you've been covering for them?"

Sprawling her legs in front of her, Bri sighed. "You make it sound so... orchestrated."

"It wasn't?"

"I mean..." Bri shrugged, taking a sip of water. "Me and him, that was just a bad joke. I didn't know people actually thought that until Chris said something... but she seemed like she was joking." Pensive at the mention of the younger girl, and seemingly wary of the definitely-alive husband, Bri's volume fell. "I thought everyone knew him and Lori were together."

"We minded our business until someone got bored enough to spread rumors." Andrea said, not shameful, but tentative to gauge Bri's reaction. "And then... it was a distraction from everything else."

Bri feigned indifference, and her face revealed little. However, voice flat with an underlying resentment, Bri said, "I'm glad I could be so useful."

"Well, we don't have time for that now, do we..." Andrea stood, and offered Bri her hand. A peace offering, and help from the hard ground. Bri took it with a half-smile.

Shane corralled the group in front of the church. "Me and Rick, we're just gonna hang back, search this area another hour or so."

"You're splitting us up?" Daryl said, surprised. "You sure?"

"Yeah, we'll catch up to you."

"I'll come with." Bri offered softly, seeming unsure of Shane's reaction. "Can't go back to Cory if y'all are still out here."

Rick lifted a hand to shut her down, but Shane said, "That's fine by me."

"I want to stay, too." Carl stepped up. Andrea saw how Rick had nothing to say against his own child sticking with them in the woods.

The Grimes' hugged each other goodbye, and Rick handed Lori his gun.

Lori denied him. "I'm not taking your gun and leaving you unarmed."

"Here," Daryl offered. "got a spare. Take it."

Andrea couldn't contain her huff.

"Hey," Bri touched Andrea's arm. "Shane's been promisin' to train me for so damn long. I'll drag you with me when he finally does." It was a kind gesture.

Andrea was full of self-pity, acting like she was the odd-woman-out. It felt like Dale was the only one looking out for her. But Andrea could take care of herself, anyways. Bri was sobering up with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Who was looking out for Bri?

It wasn't responsibility Andrea felt, but on the walk back around the creek and to the RV, she kept quiet. Her eyes stayed off Lori, off the gun, and her ears stayed off of Carol's whimpering, and on the sounds of the forest, praying for girlish jabber to cut through the blanket of chirping birds.

* * *

Chrissy wanted to say something.

Sophia knew, because for the last hour Chrissy's mouth was warped like if she let go she would start yelling.

"You don't know where we're goin'?" Sophia tried. The trees ran together, but maybe Chrissy was doing better than her. The older girl took very certain steps, enough that Sophia was lulled into a partial calm.

"No, Sophia. No fucking clue."

Sophia winced at the swear, but Chrissy didn't mean anything by it. Chrissy already said she was going to choose a direction and stick with it. She already explained, the day before, how she didn't know which way was the highway. But Sophia hoped the answer might change, though she wasn't sure how it would.

Chrissy was gripey, too, because she hadn't slept. She let Sophia pass out, sitting tucked at her side in a decades-old hunting shed. They could see the stars and a sliver of moon through what remained of the roof, and there were three walls still standing. It was protection enough for the night, but Chrissy shoved Sophia awake as soon as it was light.

"We'll hit highway eventually." Chrissy had said.

They hadn't eaten, only sipped at Sophia's water. Sophia knew keeping her bag on her back was the right move. Chrissy threw hers to the side when the herd came through, so she could get under the car with Sophia.

Chrissy hadn't said anything to blame Sophia, but she seemed to want to say something. Sophia was waiting for the shoe to drop.

Somewhere in the distance, church bells rang.

"Could always be like a mirage." Chrissy muttered.

"I think we should go there. If we hear them, so do they."

Chrissy nodded, stretching preparation to jog in the bells' direction. She faltered. "Do you even have a weapon? I only have my knife."

Sophia did, at the bottom of her bag. Slowing to duck beside a thick-based tree, Sophia slung her knapsack from her shoulders. She had little food, less knowing she'd have to share with Chrissy, and there was a thin sweater balled up that she used as a pillow while driving with the Grimes'. Underneath it, she had tucked a gun from Bri's collection, where Shane had tucked them in the truck of his Jeep.

Chrissy stared. "You're not serious." But Chrissy didn't ask her why she had it.

Sophia didn't know where to grip it, so she offered it in her palm.

"No ammo?"

Sophia frowned, "No, guess not."

"That's okay." Chrissy recovered from her shock. She ducked beside Sophia. "Keep watch for a sec?"

Sophia held Chrissy's knife as demonstrated the night before. Birds overhead were cut through with the clicking of the gun bits.

"Empty clip."

"It's useless." Sophia said, ashamed. "I meant to get ammo but I couldn't tell the difference."

"No." Chrissy put the gun back together, and Sophia was surprised she knew how. "Not useless. You can hit a walker upside the head with it. I'll hold onto it alright?"

Chrissy looked like an undercover agent, like a teen spy. Harriet the Spy, if Harriet the Spy had the coolest hair and prettiest face and was lost in the woods.

The bells stopped as they reached their loudest. They kept in the same direction, still praying the group would follow the bells, too. Maybe they were the ones ringing them.

"That's assuming they'd even come after us." Chrissy stooped to the ground, head in her hands.

Sophia disagreed, "My Mama wouldn't leave me. And if it wasn't me out here, she wouldn't leave you." At least Sophia was pretty certain of it. Her Daddy might have left Sophia, and definitely would have left Chrissy.

Thinking of her Daddy didn't make Sophia sad. It made her stomach ache a bit, like a bad taste. She could call him Ed now, couldn't she?

He wasn't the only one they lost.

"I'm real sorry about Jacqui." Sophia said, taking big steps over the winding tree roots.

"She had a choice." Chrissy's hand went absently to her plaits. "Just wish she hadn't made that choice."

"I think she saw what happened to Jim and Amy and everyone at camp."

"We all saw it. Not all of us opted out. I don't hold it against her, I just miss her."

They couldn't find the source of the bells.

"We need some place for the night. A real place." Chrissy slumped against a tree. "I have to sleep. I barely did the night before last."

"At the store?"

Chrissy nodded.

"Were you taking care of Bri, after what Daryl said?"

Chrissy nodded again.

"Will she be okay without you?"

Chrissy looked at something in the distance, but when Sophia followed her sight line, there were just more trees.

"We'll find something for the night." Sophia took Chrissy's wrist in her hand to show she was there for her. Chrissy threaded her fingers between Sophia's.

After an hour or more of walking, Chrissy spotted a break in the overgrown trees. The structure was a thin, two-story, long-since-abandoned home. As Chrissy did the sweep, taking back her knife momentarily, they realized both the front and back doors locked, and by going upstairs, they'd be well out of harm's way.

There wasn't proof anyone ever lived there except faded paint in the kitchen doorway, marking the heights of children. The names were faded, so they weren't children anymore, and were probably so old they might not make it these days. Dale was the only old person they had in their group. He wouldn't be able to run fast if he had to.

Sophia ran her fingertips over the wood.

"You'll get tetanus." Chrissy stepped around the large holes in the planks of the stairs.

"I think that's metal." Sophia dropped into a rickety chair in the corner of the kitchen.

"Well, I bet there's maggots and shit. Watch out."

"What'd you find upstairs?" Sophia pointed to Chrissy's arms, wrapped around something folded and motheaten.

"Drug paraphernalia and blankets. I don't trust these stains, though."

"You trust the drug paraphe... stuff?"

"No." Chrissy threw a roll of blankets to the grounds in a cloud of dust. "We can put your blankets between the sketchy sheets and us. Extra layers are good."

Sophia didn't know what month is was, but the night before had been cold. She never liked to say anything was wrong when it was, didn't want to complain, but neither girl ran from the highway with a coat.

"Gonna have to get you a bag."

Chrissy said, "I wonder if I can't turn a blanket into a bag, like, tie it up somehow."

With the sun falling behind the trees, and their muscles cried in pain, Chrissy spent the last of daylight trying to fold and twist Sophia's thin, cleaner blanket into something useable.

"Function over fashion, right?"

Chrissy slung the sack over her shoulder. She tested the weight with Sophia's meager items, plus a spool of wire she found with the drug stuff.

"If we have to leave in a hurry, we should stay on the first floor."

It felt scarier to stay in the open downstairs. "If there's walkers..."

"The doors latch enough to buy time. We'll be able to run if we're downstairs. We'd just get trapped up there."

Chrissy was right, and if Chrissy was scared, she was doing a great job hiding it. She still seemed angry, though, so Sophia held off anymore questions.

Dinner was a can of peaches. After they ate their fill, there were enough slices for breakfast. Chrissy sliced a small square from one of the blankets and cut a piece of wire to tie it off.

"There's farms around here. If we find somewhere with, God, an apple tree or something... we could set up shop."

"We could set up here. We wouldn't have to go any further away from them."

Chrissy shook her head. "No, we're already far, and we have no supplies." The few items they had wouldn't last. They had travel sized shampoo and body wash, but only half a bottled water between them. There were another two cans and some granola. "We're gonna make it, though. Don't worry about that. Just worry about how."

"You think we can, without them?"

"Don't got the choice not to."

* * *

Rick Grimes did not like nor trust Bri.

At least, Bri was pretty sure of it.

Rick had Bri and Carl walk in front of him and Shane. Sure, Bri had her axe, but she was sure Carl didn't have a weapon on him.

If it were only Bri and Shane, she would be ten times more comfortable. At this rate, if a walker passed them by, Bri wasn't certain Rick wouldn't push her in front of it to save Carl and himself.

Or was Bri paranoid that in her absence, there would be less people to care about Chrissy?

Twenty four hours prior, when Chrissy slipped from their grasp, Shane found Bri first. He broke the news, as she and Carl were far from where the girls were hidden during the herd. He held her back when she tried to bolt after them. Bri apologized for hitting him.

"Chrissy's strong." Shane had said to Carol. "Sophia's in good hands."

But to Bri, Shane said, "Chrissy's strong. She's gonna make it 'til we find her."

Unfortunately, in Bri's mind, they were only looking for Chrissy. Daryl tracked them, said they walked a long ways together. Chrissy panicked hard in the city, and was numb from the CDC. Even then, Bri told herself Chrissy could keep herself alive, but Sophia was a different story.

That's why Shane was ready to stop, and why Bri cracked open another energy drink.

They didn't talk, per Rick's request. Bri wished Daryl, the actual tracker, was leading the search.

But by not talking, they heard it.

Soft pattering steps of an animal, and its body rustling the trees. They stopped walking, stilled completely so the deer wouldn't spook.

Like Shane, who readied his gun, Bri was thinking of a potential dinner. Carl took miniscule steps forward, as Rick waved Shane's gun down.

It was peaceful. Carl wanted to pet it. The deer was looking right at him, was going to let him.

The blast came from the trees beyond them. The deer went down as Carl went down. One bullet. They both bled from their stomachs.

Rick's screams brought Bri back. Shane raised his gun and Bri mirrored his ready stance, coming beside Carl's body, and scanning the tree line for the stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Man That Got Away_ by Judy Garland
> 
> this episode is so important but somehow is 95% filler, therefore... filler chapter that is simply too long
> 
> bri and andrea friendship incoming because i say so
> 
> glenn and t-dog sections next ch + the greene family intros + timelines will shift in the next few chs
> 
> also how did i write half of this in two days and then not touch it for a month i'm so sorry


End file.
